


I Don't Want To Spoil The Party

by I_Said_Maybe



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: But lots of other characters are mentioned, M/M, Mainly focused on Jose, Which begins in 2002, it's a long story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2020-06-24 08:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 38,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19719841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Said_Maybe/pseuds/I_Said_Maybe
Summary: I came across some old article where they mentioned Jose Mourinho was at certain point very much interested in having Steven Gerrard in his team. Not only in Chelsea, but he later invited him to his then clubs, Internazionale Milan and Real Madrid. He even admitted that failing to sign Gerrard was his biggest transfer disappointment. Many of us have heard of this as well as of the episode when Gerrard almost left Liverpool for Chelsea, but changed his mind just in one night. So, I decided to try to investigate these missing pages. Why did Mourinho need him so badly? What made Stevie G reconsider? A brief search showed no results with this pairing, which I just couldn't believe! I wanted to read it so much that had to write one myself.I was trying to keep to the chronological order, but some facts might be misplaced, overlooked or invented by my sick mind.Enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story consists of a number of small parts (around 100), so I'll be posting a few at a time depending on their size.

~~~1~~~

2004  
'When I told you, Jose, that you will have any player in the world I meant it,' Roman Abramovich's Russian accent was thick as molasses. Jose knew he couldn't boast received pronunciation either, which was only natural. Yes, he came from a small port town in Portugal, and wasn't ashamed of this fact. But his boss at times sounded positively funny, just like they portray the Russian mafia in Hollywood. _One might wonder why._ 'But it obviously involved only those who are eager to move to Chelsea.'  
'He will change his mind, we just need to offer him a bit more generous terms,' Jose still refused to give in.  
'It's the fourth time we've had this conversation, and the situation is as simple as that. He just won't go. Whatever we offer. He's an idiot.'  
'He would join us in a wink if he wasn't afraid of the batshit mad folks in his city.'  
'Anyway. It's his decision to make and to regret afterwards. End of story. I cannot see why you're so obsessed with this particular player.'  
This was the first time someone called his desire to lure away this footballer by its proper name. _Obsessed._  
'Nah. We just need a good player in this position.'  
'Then why don't you take a look at this new French guy...'  
'Sure,' Jose nodded.

~~~2~~~

2002  
Now Jose couldn't remember when the whole story had actually started. 

He was the new manager of Porto, and his quick success alogside with his arrogance made him the flavour of the month. 

Of course, he kept an eye on lots of players around the globe, and a few scouts helped him with that. Though he didn't need their help to notice Steven Gerrard. Suddenly everyone knew him, a young star of LiverpoolFC, so far away from Porto.  
Jose heard about him a few times, then accidentally saw some highlights of the EPL match. It was their game against Southampton or perhaps Newcastle. He couldn't remember, not that it mattered. 

His attention was instantly attracted by this swift figure in red, so quick, inventive and playing in such an aggressive manner. The camera showed his face, full of utter disappointment after some ineffective tackle.  
'Stop. Show me this moment once again,' he said in an undertone. The assistant had long before got used to asking very few questions, he replayed the latest minute and paused the video when his bossed asked him to. The second when they showed the face of the young midfielder.

'Steven Gerrard,' Jose said as if these words were some secret password.

He switched off the video himself and left the room without further comments.

~~~3~~~

All his life Jose knew full well he was bisexual. It is no problem as long as you're a good liar. Jose definitely was one. He married the girl he had tender feelings for, and cared for her a lot. He loved his kids, though didn't use to demonstarte much affection towards them. He enjoyed being with his family. Not for too long, of course, otherwise they started to irritate him a bit. But he was always great at getting the balance right. He appreciated what he had with Matilde, and never had any lovers.

Female lovers, that is to say.

Because as far as men were concerned he was rather greedy for new experience. Oh, he was careful enough not to let it show. No liaisons with colleagues or professional players, anyone who might really know him. Only once he was so careless that sought sexual relief with a sports journalist. The ensuing relationship was full of passion and fears to get caught, so he simply had to end it.

He was surprised himself at the ease of their break-up. There was no damage done, they remained friends, but without benefits. That would be too dangerous for his career in Portuguese intolerant society.  
So, he reverted to what he was already accustomed to - professionals. He had three or four whom he could rely on. Most probably, they knew who he was, especially as his fame grew. But they never discussed it. He preferred them to keep silent during these encounters. He paid them well, so they were obedient.

~~~4~~~

The moment Jose left that room he had to lean against the wall. This was unexpected, unexplainable, but his legs just gave out.  
That lad's face, what was so special about it? A mediocre British mug, during his career he had seen loads of far more attractive boys, and many were ready to do anything, practically _everything_ to get into the team. Nevertheless, he never took advantage of them.

Why did it have to happen? Why just a look at some stupid guy's face had sent him into this state? Jose had no answer to this question and decided to put it down to the emotional stress he'd been suffering that month. He knew the remedy perfectly.  
He picked out the youngest of his partners, the one that he didn't ever prefer. 

This time during their rough sex, and Jose always preferred it rough, in the manner he would never force his wife to follow, he chose to close his eyes and for some reason the image he'd seen on the lapton floated beside him, and he came hard, panting heavily, embarrassed about the impropriety of what was going on. He left lavish tips and darted out of the house as fast as possible.

During his taxi ride home Jose justified his behaviour. He was just overstrained, and this resulted in such wild dreams of a complete stranger. Very likely, they would never meet, he would never have to see this face again.

~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, seventeen strangers have read the first part, that's about 17 more than I expected.  
> Definite and unquestionable success!

~~~5~~~

Jose knew it was a lie. Since then he never missed a Liverpool match, and he would click the pause button every time they showed the young midfielder. It was ridiculous, there was nothing too unusual about him. Yet there was something peculiar in the way he moved, the way he showed emotions, celebrated goals, in his very appearance. 

That was simply absurd, after all. 

For some idiotic reason just watching the player's tackle, hugs with teammates, smiles, was intoxicating. Jose thought of this stupid face too often to be considered normal. And how horny he got when he imagined this boy belonging to him, was completely unaccountable. He liked to pronounce his name in a slow manner: 'Ste-ven Ger-rard'. What an _average_ name, to be fair! 

But gradually Jose got used to this weakness, just like one gets used to a broken limb. He admitted he had this flaw, but it could not affect his life, as it was so freaking far away. Honestly, what were the chances? 

~~~6~~~

After winning the Champions League with Porto Jose became world famous, something he had always craved. He made no secret of the fact that he would be glad to leave for a bigger club. It was really silly to stick with one team and miss such a lot of opportunities.

He soon learned that many would be glad to see him by their side. Football world was stagnant, but once there was a fresh name, suddenly everyone wanted it.

He was offered quite a few managerial positions at rich clubs, and didn't turn down any of them. What was he waiting for? He kept telling himself he just wanted to see the full picture, there was no need to rush.

Until one day, when his agent told Jose English Liverpool was looking for a new coach. Then he felt a strange wish to rush, and immediately at that.

'Nothing is certain so far,' said the agent. 'They are also considering Rafael Benitez. He has been very impressive with his Valencia. Not as much as you, of course,' he added promptly.

Jose was careful not to show his interest, it could still be just tongues wagging. But deep inside he knew: he would try to seize this occasion. That was a decent club, after all.

~~~7~~~

When Liverpool invited Benitez, a boring heartless machine, Jose was fuming with anger and indignation. He didn't hold back his disappointment when the agent told him the news. And the bastard behaved as though there was nothing to worry about.

'You know, mate, you needn't bother yourself about this. I have a better idea,' he said enigmatically. 'Someone very important wants to meet with you.'  
'Who?' Jose involuntarily felt intrigued.  
' _He_ would like to see you on his yacht,' replied the agent mysteriously.

~~~8~~~

Jose's head was spinning with the bright prospects for the future. He was completely unprepared that the stranger he was to meet would be Roman Abramovich himself.

Such a charming guy, and he behaved like a true gentleman. No matter what they were talking about his dirty Russian money, Jose couldn't care less.

Roman made him bask in compliments and then laid his cards on the table.

'Jose, I'm buying Chelsea.'  
'Buying Chelsea?' that sounded nonsensical like 'buying the Parthenon' or 'buying China'.  
'Actually, I have already bought them, a couple of weeks back. Hook, line and sinker,' he chuckled.  
Still Jose couldn't believe it. How the hell could this man just come to English society and easily buy one of the oldest clubs? And mention it so matter-of-factly to boot? But this wasn't the end of it, of course.  
'I will need a good manager. The best in the world. That's why I've been told to come to you.'  
'I... I'm flattered, Mr Abramovich.'  
'Call me Roman. And I need an answer now.'  
'It's so unexpected. I just need to think it over.'  
'You have one day. Money will be no problem. Fancy becoming the best-paid football coach in the world? You will have all you need. If it's necessary, I'll build a new stadium instead of their shithouse.'  
Jose thought that Chelsea's shithouse had capacity of at least 40,000. Roman continued.  
'You can bring your people with you, any assistant you need. And as for the players... What they currently have, are mostly trash. You decide whether to keep any of them. If you want a completely new team, you will get it. Any player you wish will be yours, don't be humble in your desires. I'm going to explode the transfer market. All I need is results. I know it may take time, but I want Premier League, Champions League, everything.'  
'I think... I think, I won't be needing this extra day, Roman,' Jose cracked his best smile. He was never good at smiling, but he felt he had to try.  
'I accept this job.'

Later, celebrating with his family, Jose just couldn't get rid of those words, repeating in his head 'any player will be yours...' He did his best not to dwell on it.

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know full well Jose wasn't the first manager of Chelsea after Abramovich purchased the club, and apologise for some inaccuracies.


	3. Chapter 3

~~~9~~~

Everything sped up so suddenly that Jose hardly managed to keep pace with events. Roman was a quick solver of problems, you had to hand it to him.

Sometimes Jose failed to decide whether he was supposed to be happy about such changes or be appalled by them. The most reasonable course of action in this situation was to wake up, but it was real. 

Pretty soon Jose found himself in London, shaking hands with his new players who looked slightly terrified by Roman's vehemence, just as he had been. The media got crazy, especially after the club signed a few players for more than ten million pounds each. The newspapers, inspired by old football bosses, started quite a campaign against 'Chelsea buying everything'. Stupid hysterical bitches, they didn't even realise how funny they seemed. This gave him the energy to rush into battle. Now Jose was surrounded by some resolute assistants, and soon he learned to position himself as 'the Special one.' He invented the term, and the press loved it. Jose had never known he would enjoy behaving like that, but his team gave such stunning performances that he felt justified in saying whatever he wanted. He wasn't going to show much respect to Alex Ferguson or Arsene Wenger. Nor to Rafa fucking Benitez, for god's sake.

~~~10~~~

Jose was careful not to reveal his personal interest right away. But as months passed and Chelsea demonstrated staggering results, he became even bolder in transfer policy. Roman expressly told him a few times Jose could buy _any_ player under the sun.

Since he arrived in London, Jose had been watching Steven Gerrard's games intently like never before. Even if he pretended to forget his own concern, there was no denying the player was a phenomenon. He was progressing so quickly it was almost unbelievable, now everyone was going to recognise his immense talent. Jose was sure he would win the Player of the Year award, and very soon.

Over time, though, Jose was getting more and more worried. The boy was attracting too much attention. Any major club could just lure him away any time, before Jose made a move. Steven showed little desire to leave his city so far, but as a sensible person he had to understand this was inevitable. 

So, urgent steps needed to be taken.

~~~11~~~

Jose had to admit to himself his dreams were reaching very inappropriate peaks. Every time he had a spare minute, which didn't happen too often, he would rewatch episodes of Gerrard's games. Lord, what a player. And what a bunch of lame idiots most of his teammates were! 

Before sleep, in the shower or lying in his bed Jose couldn't help relishing the idea of this lad being totally his, becoming an integral part of his team. Gerrard could make Chelsea even stronger, totally invincible. Of course, Jose would give him the best contract terms, and Steven would be so grateful, so very grateful to his coach. And then, one evening, after some really important victory, for example, over his former club, Jose would invite him to his flat, and hug, and compliment his great flair, get him relaxed and drop his guard, and then... The rest was blurred.

~~~12~~~

Once, after the press conference, Jose approached Benitez. He had never liked the man. How one could be so impassive, was just beyond Jose. 

'I would like to buy one of your players, Rafael,' he started without unnecessary beating about the bush.  
'Which one?' Benitez didn't seem too impressed, looking half-asleep as usual.  
'And I'm offering your club 20 million pounds for him,' Jose quickly added.  
'That's some big money,' Benitez smiled. 'However I treasure them I doubt any of mine is worth this amount.'  
'It's simply to avoid the months-long negotiating process,' explained Jose, feeling more than a bit nervous and not wanting to show it.  
'Besides, albeit that sounds like a great offer, not every player would be happy to join your team, Jose.'  
He was already starting negotiating, fat dumbo.  
'So, which one?'  
'Your captain, Steven Gerrard,' Jose took pride in the fact that his voice didn't betray him.  
'Oh, this is impossible, Jose,' said Benitez with what seemed relief. 'He will never agree, he's, you know, our local lad. He would never leave us for _you_.'  
That 'you' was filled with slight disdain, which Jose caught immediately. And that very moment his dislike for Benitez escalated to some new heights.  
'Well, it's him to decide, not you,' said Jose, trying to keep the anger from his tone.  
'Naturally. That's why I'm telling you this will never happen, Jose. If you'll excuse me.' 

And in a moment he was gone.

~~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate it that as many as eighty-five people have read this strange story so far! Just think to what height it may climb!

~~~13~~~

It wasn't hard to persuade Roman they really needed Gerrard. Jose just didn't see fit to elucidate the owner on why exactly he wanted the midfielder so badly. Chelsea manager considered it necessary, that was enough.

'Better meet him in person and explain to the poor guy it's his right to choose. We can offer him much more he could ever dream of in his Liverpool. He must be brainless to miss this chance.'

Yes, talking to Steven in private was all Jose needed. It wouldn't be difficult to make him see the bright future.

'Meanwhile, we'll drop a few hints in the media that we are interested in signing him. I've learnt that _some_ pressure tends to make people much more compliant.'

Jose asked himself how Roman had learnt that, but decided not to elaborate on the topic.

~~~14~~~

Jose made an attempt to contact Gerrard via his agent. The latter said the player was very much interested, but still hesitant. Obviously high wages at Chelsea couldn’t be ignored, but there was an obstacle which seemed to be hindering the process. Gerrard mentioned something like ‘not being completely sure he could leave his boyhood team’ and such nonsense. Utter crap, this simply couldn’t be the case. Jose just needed to find out what was wrong.

The next week every newspaper was screaming 'Gerrard is to leave for Stamford Bridge,' 'Chelsea are going to sign the Liverpool captain in the near future' and stuff like that. 

Jose loved the yellow press. He took great pleasure in reading all these articles, Roman had done a great job. Gerrard's panicking denials didn't convince anyone. Somehow everybody just _knew_ he was going to leave. This was clear as day.

Of course, the media in Liverpool instantly jumped in, and the hell broke loose. They were cursing him for deserting the club at such a crucial moment, blaming him for being disloyal to those who had always supported him. Fans were even burning his shirts, crazy morons.

~~~15~~~

When Jose heard about supporters burning shirts, he wasn't happy one jot. That was a bit too much for his liking. Honestly, he didn't mean to make Steven suffer, he wanted quite the opposite, to give him all he deserved.

Reading about the fans' rage, Jose felt a bit embarrassed. What were these fuckwits doing? Did they really believe Gerrard _belonged_ to them? Did these clowns think they could make a player stay, acting this way? Clearly, some people just didn't have enough decency to let the man decide. He wasn't theirs, after all. The lad had the right to think for himself, and Jose had no doubt what Steven would prefer in the end.

~~~16~~~

Perhaps it was a bit of a low blow, but Benitez well deserved it. The plan was Roman's, but Jose agreed to it immediately. As long as Gerrard for some stupid reason refused to meet with him, they persuaded the player to meet in a restaurant with one of Chelsea agents, the most trustworthy one. Even that wasn't easy at all. 

Really, Steven could have used this chance and agreed to their terms. Jose told their representative to say yes to all his stipulations, whatever they be. He knew Roman would approve. 

But Gerrard was being stubborn. He suddenly declined all their offers before even listening to them and asked just one thing - to be left in peace. He repeated a few times, as the agent related, that under no circumstanced he would be playing in Mourinho's team.

Jose smelt a rat. What the hell was Gerrard thinking – first almost joining Chelsea, and now stepping back? It was evident he had been tempted by another big club. Which one? Of course, it couldn’t be United, Steven for some idiotic reason took all this Liverpool-Manchester rivalry very seriously. Jose had been to both cities and failed to find much difference, both were equally dreadful. Then Arsenal? Italy? Or Spain? With any other player Jose would accept his defeat, but it wasn't just some random bloke who could kick the ball, it was Steven.

'Apparently, he's asking for a bit more pressure,' smiled Roman. He couldn't take it why his manager needed this particular player, but found the whole story of Gerrard's unexpected obstinacy very amusing.

Very conveniently, a reporter happened to be in the same restaurant, and took a few photos.

~~~17~~~

The next day the papers, radio, television, the internet exploded: 'Gerrard has been seen negotiating with Chelsea!,' 'Stevie G is leaving Anfield,' 'All Gerrard's words were a blatant lie!'

Jose felt a bit of sympathy, but mostly schadenfreude. He realised what stress Steven was now put under, but in the end, who caused it? It was him who was making his own life harder, not Jose. Any other would feel flattered by such interest. After all, they hadn't offered that much to anybody, and the brat refused to even listen. 

And as if to make matters even more interesting, The League Cup Final was approaching, where Liverpool was to play against Chelsea.

~~~


	5. Chapter 5

~~~18~~~

It was their moment of absolute glory. Roman was exultant, just like Jose and everybody else. The first piece of silverware was won, and the most piquant fact was that it all became possible after Gerrard netted an own goal. Of course, this could happen to anyone, but the timing was just priceless. 

'An excellent header, what a star! Looks like he's desperate to impress us,' commented Roman.

Jose took a pleasure in reading the headlines: 'Gerrard proved he already sees himself as a Chelsea player!' 'Next season Stevie G, the "loyal" one, will be wearing a blue shirt, and he's already started to score!' Jose imagined Steven trying to explain that to his braindead supporters. Definitely he would have to skip town, Jose had seen those faces at the stadium. There was still hope they wouldn't try to burn down his house.

The mobile went off. It was one of Chelsea staff.  
'Jose, Steven Gerrard wants to meet with you. Just you, in private.'

~~~19~~~

Jose couldn't find proper words to express what he was feeling when he heard that. They had of course, seen each other during some games or ceremonies, but Jose was clever enough not to stare for too long. Though on all these rare occasions he dreamt of a time machine, to slow down everybody else, to come up to Steven and... And do many inappropriate things with him, while everyone around was frozen. Jesus fucking Christ, he had been fantasising about it for so long now. 

And it would only do Steven good. Over time, Jose could make him captain, this would suit the lad perfectly. John and Frank might object, but who cared? Jose could give the world to Steven, now that he finally realised he had to agree. Benitez never understood what a gem he had in his squad. Good thing he was such an imperturbable bore and never used to embrace or kiss his players. Nevertheless, Jose had a certain suspicion about some of Steven's teammates. Especially Carragher and Alonso seemed to have got into the habit of having too much physical contact with Steven. In the football world this sort of rumours always existed, and for a reason. Carragher had to be ruled out immediately, rarely had Jose seen a more unsexy and gormless creature. But Alonso, that was more dangerous, those two seemed to have a strange and disturbing liaison.  
But of course, it would all have to change when Steven came to Chelsea. 

'He would like to meet in a small pub outside the city.'

~~~20~~~

Jose had never felt so unsure in his whole life. He kept telling himself that everything was going according to their plan, but sometimes he had a sudden doubt. What if Steven still refused? He obviously had to keep his hands off the boy now, at the beginning of their relationship. Lord, they had never actually spoken before, what was he supposed to say?

But it was Steven who'd suggested they meet, wasn't it? Jose woulnd't go there like a beggar. Evidently, Steven was the one to start the conversation, and hopefully he had something to tell him. 

It would be damn hard to talk indifferently, to play the role of a busy manager who had little time when all he wanted was to hug this stubborn thing and never ever let go. Jose decided on a quick wank in the shower before the meeting.

~~~21~~~

'Good evening, Mr Mourinho.'

Although Jose thought he was prepared for this, yet seeing Steven right in front of him, wearing a thin t-shirt which didn't conceal much, was more than Jose could take. For a couple of seconds he pretended to be looking around the pub. Very dark and the bartender seemed to pay little heed to what was going on.  
Perhaps he should have had one more wank.

'You can call me Jose, Steven. A nice place, have you been here before?'  
'Erm... No. Carra recommended it.'  
_No good to bring up your stupid pal now,_ thought Jose.  
'Look Steven, I'm a busy man, unfortunately, and so are you. What is it you wanted me to know?'  
'Mr Mourinho, I wanted to ask you to stop that.'

Jose couldn't believe his ears.

'Sorry?'  
'This media campaign was launched by you and your club. I never agreed to join Chelsea. I was... erm... considering that, but not any longer. I find it all disgusting. You are ruining everything, you cannot imagine what me life has turned into.'

Jose didn't even manage to get angry that Steven refused to call him by his first name. The desperate tone of the man, the expression of his eyes were producing some weird effect upon Jose.

'What... What do you mean, Steven?'  
'Our fans keep insulting me and my family, they throw ungodly accusations at me, everyone in the city considers me a liar. This is what I _mean_ , Mr Mourinho.'  
'Well, knowing them, you shouldn't be surprised. These people are filthy bastards, they think you're their property, that you belong to the city,' snorted Jose.  
'I feel that I belong to the city as well, Mr Mourinho.'

Jose thought he was hallucinating.

'What? They have been sending you life threatening letters, I know.'  
'They will calm down as soon as they realise I'm not going anywhere in the near future. Erm... I hope so.'  
'Rubbish! Listen boy, don’t play these games with me and just say, which club you are going to play for, and in a minute I’ll convince you that Chelsea is a better option.’  
‘I’ve already said that I’m not going anywhere.’  
‘Bollocks! Why would you want to stay? We both know how much you get a week, and let me tell you...'  
'Erm... I'm not interested any more, sorry,' his voice now sounded firmer. 'Liverpool has given me so much, I will not betray it because of a few crazy fans.'

Jose gave a deep sigh. He knew he had to be calm, but felt he wouldn't be able to control his voice if he spoke. Steven was barking mad. Probably had been brainwashed by that fat Spanish idiot they called their coach. 

'Steven, what the hell are you talking about? Your so-called supporters are crap who don't even care for you. Your current team is a useless piece of trash. You know it yourself. You will never achieve anything there. One has to be _insane_ to ignore that!'  
'I'm staying with my boys,' Steven repeated. 'That's all I wanted to say. I must ask you, Mr Mournho, to stop interfering. Tomorrow I'm giving an interview where I will say I'm not leaving the club.' A faint smile touched the corners of his lips. 'And you're very wrong about our prospects, we're still in the Champions League, and Rafa says we could go far in it.'

This was more than Jose could take. 'My boys', 'Rafa', 'our prospects' it all summed up and caused so much anger, that Jose barely managed not to grab Steven by the shoulder. At this moment all his passion left him, he just hated the imbecility he had heard.

'Man, you're fucking _blind_! Where are you in the EPL table, number six? Behind Everton? You are not even getting in the Champions next season! You imagine you'll be playing like this till you're thirty-five? You're burying the talent you have got with some mediocre shit team. How can you, one of the smartest player I've ever seen, be so _dumb_ off the pitch?!'

Steven rose from the table. They hadn't drunk or eaten anything.

'Nice talking, Mr Mourinho. And you were right, we're not high in the table, but we can still get into the Champions if we win it this year.'

He gave Jose who was lost for words a gentle smile and left the pub.

~~~


	6. Chapter 6

~~~22~~~

For a few minutes Jose felt unable to even move. Fanatic, Gerrard was a fucking fanatic, how had he not noticed that before? 'If we win the Champions...' - what a doofus! The shit he was babbling made no sense whatsoever. To have the cheek to talk like that with a Chelsea manager. And still refused to call him 'Jose.'

So, if Steven hadn't lied, he wasn't going to join any other team, but to stay in Liverpool for the best years of his career, what a wise decision. This sounded like a symptom of a psychiatric disease. 

His club was underpaying him, the most promising player of the Premier League, his supporters were working class scum who kept insulting him, his team was a compost heap, yet he felt loyal to Liverpool. The lad was obviously bananas. Jose sighed. 

Jose knew he wasn't the loveliest person, but it wasn't his fault, after all. The world was just wrong, the amount of stupidity he had to face always pissed him off. Especially from his own players, many of them tried every trick in the book to fuck it all up, instantly forgetting all he told them before the games. But at least he had some authority over them, which was not the case with Steven. Jose had no power to get into his Scouse head and see which marbles were missing.

Anyway, life had taught him that sometimes one just needed to step back. You cannot win everything. He had done more than was possible, more than this idiot deserved. Perhaps he thought that the captain had to go down with the ship, who knows? Okay, on his own head be it, when his precious Liverpool never won anything he would reconsider his words.

And Jose had to admit that probably it was for the best their conversation had ended this way. Just seeing that face so fucking close, hearing his voice was doing bad things to Jose. One had to have a sober head on his shoulders, especially at the end of the season. This madness for Gerrard could only harm him.

Remembering Steven's eyes, lips, his hands made Jose so aroused that he felt physically uncomfortable. He decided to find someone for the evening and try to get this frigging man out of his mind. The former turned out to be much easier than the latter.

~~~23~~~

Jose stuck to his plan meticulously. His players were performing in a miraculous manner, and Roman was more than pleased. And every time Jose felt the danger of dreaming about Steven he would call one of those cool guys whom he'd found on the internet.

He tried his best to avoid mentioning Gerrard's name, watching his games, and he was coping with that quite successfully. He knew of course they hadn't somehow got knocked out of the Champions League yet, but it was just a question of time. Steven and his wretched team didn't even exist to Jose. 

Before semi-finals came.

~~~24~~~

Roman wanted a big victory to make everyone acknowledge their club, to become a serious rival for Man United and Arsenal. The Champions League was the best way to prove they were now important in Europe. 

And which team did they have to face in the semi-finals? _Of course. Who could have predicted that?_

Liverpool had managed to beat Bayer Leverkusen and Juventus. Jose watched the games and wasn't much impressed. Obviously, now their journey was about to end. Liverpool were _twenty-one_ points behind his team, for crying out loud! It was impossible that Chelsea could go and lose to _these_. In the pre-match interviews Benitez was cool as a freaking cucumber, and Gerrard said with a new cheeky expression that they were going to make short work of Chelsea. Carragher was standing next to the captain with his typical cretinous sullen face and solemnly nodded to every word.

Jose frowned when he saw the interview. He wasn't used to lying to himself. And he knew that albeit there had been nothing between them, and most probably would never be, yet he couldn't be indifferent to Steven, he had certain feelings towards him. Jose was careful not to name these feelings, but their bitter intensity scared him.

The first game in London ended in a draw 0-0, both teams playing in a nervous manner and constantly losing the ball. The only good thing was that Alonso got booked and was suspended for the next game, the home-tie in Liverpool. Not bad. 

So everything had to be done at Anfield.

~~~25~~~

The stadium was roaring with delight. Jose had never liked the place. It was too wild, too full of uncontrolled madness for a logical man like him. And of course, these thousands of gobs started singing unmusically 'You'll Never Walk Alone' like their worthless lives depended on that. Ridiculous.

However, the referee seemed intimidated by this atmosphere. He was looking sheepishly at the stands, which irritated Jose greatly. Probably he had also got some life threats from the locals, it appeared a form of Scouse greeting.

Jose quickly shook hands with Benitez, and suddenly realised that however strong was his contempt for the man, he still had some vigour. Definitely, there was something in his hamster vis-a-vis, if with this crappy team they had suceeded in getting so far. 

Jose knew that at least half or Liverpool players were absolute garbage. But Gerrard. He was everywhere, running with such vehemence it was digusting to watch. And which was worse, Jose noticed that Steven managed to instill some confidence in these dolts, his teammates.

Jose didn't even have the time to think of a proper response to that. It was the fourth minute of the game.

~~~26~~~

Gerrard passed the ball to Baros who burst into the box, where Cech promptly floored him. But the retarded referee for some reason didn't stop the game. He could have given a penalty, all would've been better than that. But no, that would be too _simple!_ So, Luis Garcia was already there and kicked the ball into the net, the git. Chelsea defender hurriedly pushed it out, but the ref still decided a goal had been scored.

They didn't have VAR in those days, otherwise it would have been clear to everyone it wasn't a goal. The referee was obviously too afraid of Anfield to think twice. 

For some reason Chelsea failed to organise a decent attack in the next 90 minutes, and Gerrard looked totally happy, waving to the fans who now suddenly seemed to love him again. 

The match ended 1-0, so Liverpool made it to the final, what a flipping joke. And some people dare say such a thing as justice exists.

Dirty cheaters, going by their smug faces they all knew they had _not_ scored. And Gerrard's triumphant mug was the worst of all. Jose wanted to hate him.

But still. But still. _But still._

~~~27~~~

Roman wasn't as disappointed as Jose had been afraid. He had seen the game and knew the ball had never crossed the line.

'This pitiful ref will have some problems, trust me. Forget this match, it doesn't matter. We all know Liverpool won't get anywhere near the Champions next year. Milan will easily steamroller these pathetic yokels in the final.'

Jose partly wanted it because he thirsted for revenge, but partly was unwilling to witness this imminent rout. Of course, their team was worse than useless, it couldn't stand a chance against the Italians, and that was only fair. What stars were playing for Milan! 

Jose simply didn't feel like watching it. He doubted he would enjoy that, seeing all Steven's vain aspirations ruined. How did they sing it today? 'Your hopes be tossed and blown.' 

Steven was a prize idiot, oozing self-conceit and lunacy, and Jose hated it. But for some reason the idea of him suffering was almost unbearable.

By that time Jose had known that none of sex workers could give him what he really needed, they didn't drive him crazy with desire. Apparently, only one man could do that, someone who wouldn't hear of meeting him again, someone who'd spurned Jose's offer and had chosen his own idiotic way.

~~~


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank these two hundred and five people who have read the fic so far!  
> Who could predict it would be so popular?

~~~28~~~

Istanbul was ungodly hot in late May. Typical for the place, Jose thought. He didn't go there, what for? His squad had failed to reach the final due to that cheat Garcia. Chelsea should have gone there, not this pisspoor team, but there was no use thinking about it now.

So, Jose was watching TV reports. Such a shitload of Liverpool fans had arrived in the city, totally inbelievable. These mobs seemed to really adore their club. Now they were even singing chants about 'Stevie G'. And what about burning some shirts? Memory span of a goldfish, indeed.

Liverpool fans easily outnumbered Milan supporters and judging by their faces by the time the game began, half of them were shamelessly drunk.

Just looking at the names in the starting lineups made one feel uncomfortable. Finnan, Traore, Riise, motherfucking Kewell - versus Crespo, Kaka, Maldini, Nesta, Gattuso, Pirlo, Shevchenko... Jose shuddered.

It was time. The referee blew his whistle.

~~~29~~~

When Milan scored their first goal, _fifty seconds_ after the game started, Jose wasn't even surprised. But it was just the beginning, of course. 

Jose had never known it would be so hurtful to watch. Still he couldn't take his eyes off the screen. Lord, how foolish, what childish mistakes! What was Benitez thinking, for fuck's sake? The whole Liverpool team were just atrocious, Milan were tearing them to shreds. And Gerrard was just like the rest, almost invisible.

Then another two goals came from Crespo, and this even made Benitez finally wake up from anabiosis and move from his bench slightly gesticulating. _There must be fireworks setting off all over Manchester now_ , Jose thought.

By the end of the first half everything was clear, 3-0. Goodnight Vienna. The second half was just a formality. Jose thought he would gloat, but for some reason found it impossible. He understood what Steven was feeling. Probably imagining all hell the media would give him at home for embarrassing their city, their country, their fans. And at halftime he was supposed to say something to his team, to cheer them up, but what? They had believed Liverpool deserved to be the champions of Europe, but the truth was they were simply abysmal and now everyone could see it and sneer at them forever. _Told you so_ , muttered Jose, but it brought him no joy. 

And their so-called supporters? These would put the blame on their skipper, they would never forget this humiliation. Now the only question was how the game would end, 5-0 or worse?

Why did Steven have to go through it? Why did he, Jose, have to watch it? However he used to enjoy any Liverpool being flattened, this was just a bit over the top. It would be reasonable just to turn off the telly, but Jose didn't have it in him. 

~~~30~~~

After the interval Jose was surprised to see Liverpool supporters still in their seats, he supposed many would leave the stadium at halftime. There was no point in watching the game anyways. Perhaps, they were too stoned to move. 

At first Jose refused to believe his ears. What the hell?.. They were chanting, singing 'You'll Never Walk Alone,' loudly as fuck! He knew that many were rather poor, and this trip to Istanbul must've cost a lot, their team was losing 0-3 under the scorching Turkish sun. Liverpool looked helpless and even shameful. Were these folks not, well, angry? Did they not see the score, for the love of god? Any fans would be throwing rocks at their players this very moment, and these loony ones were _singing?_

The whole scene seemed phantasmagorical. And when Gerrard scored and instead of posing for the cameras rushed to encourage his team, that very moment Jose knew what would happen.

~~~31~~~

Then stupid little Smicer scored, and six minutes later, Alonso, whom Steven appreciated so much. In extra time Dudek who had been pretending a waste of a jersey all season, suddenly demonstrated miracles of adroitness. They were so enthusiastic, that Jose wouldn't even be shocked if Carragher also scored, but no, that was of course impossible. This lad was only the master of own goals. And in the shoot-out Dudek demonstrated some unprecedented African dances, which horrified the Milan players so largely that they ruined their own chances.

The stadium exploded with ecstasy, the players were hugging each other, running about the pitch, celebrating like mad, and even Benitez almost looked like a human being. 

Jose saw Steven lifting the huge cup over his head, all covered in red confetti, and felt he had never been prouder, happier before. With any of his teams. Why? He personally had nothing to do with this triumph. He couldn't explain it himself. 

Jose had never found particular delight in anyone else's success. When he heard people say they were happy for their rivals or ex-teams he thought they were being hypocritical because of the social contract. He was above such pretence, naturally. That's why now his own rapture was something unexpected, but he didn't even want to analyse it.

They had fucking pulled off this seemingly impossible victory! Milan had class, but Liverpool had the spirit. His Steven had proved every single idiot on this silly planet, that his team was worth a lot, his coach wasn't a 100% block of ice, that these miserable folks from the docklands had been right to believe in them.

He heard his mobile ring. It was Roman.  
'Jose, next season this Gerrard boy is playing for Chelsea. This is decided.'

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on holiday, and posting new chapters from a mobile seems a bit hard. So, I'm taking a break, nigh two weeks or so.  
> But this story will be continued! Of course, any feedback is very welcome.


	8. Chapter 8

~~~32~~~

'Roman, maybe we should just let the lad celebrate and enjoy the moment?'   
'Don't play dumb, Jose. Big clubs will be on the hunt for him, and we must be the first.'

The night after the final Jose couldn't sleep. It was like him winning the game. He knew he had to be bitter and talk of fluke and sheer luck like many other pathetic idiots here in Britain, jealous of this success. But it was impossible, especially after he got decently drunk and sent a text: 'So happy for you and your village team, Steven! Hell, you deserved it. And you know, you have been right all along. Congrats!'

And just a few seconds later his mobile beeped. 'Thank you, Jose.'

He felt his heart miss a beat and something silly and soft was waking inside. 

'I'm telling you, the guy should be ours, whatever it takes. And I don't wanna hear your stupid explanations, simply do it, Jose. You know how I hate to repeat myself.'

~~~33~~~

They met two weeks after Liverpool's parade, in the same shitty pub, once recommended by Carragher. Jose was afraid Steven would say he was too busy with all these celebrations, but he somehow found the time.

He looked so fucking happy, but yet vulnerable, still unable to believe what had happened. Probably had no idea what Jose was going to tell him. They got two pints of beer.

They hugged for the first time, and it came so natural. Obviously, Steven had to get used to strangers embracing him all the time after Istanbul. Jose willed himself to stop thinking about Steven's shoulders, and after obligatory congratulating words got down to business.

'You must admit now it's definitely time to go.'  
'What? Leave Liverpool - now? Are you nuts? After _all this?'_  
'Exactly, after all this. And between the two of us, I'm not the one who's nuts,' Jose looked intently into Steven's eyes. 'They won't give you more.'  
'But erm... I get quite a lot.'  
'Bollocks. What are your wages, Steven?'  
'Such a vulgar thing to ask, Jose!'  
'Do you realise you could earn twice more if you moved to a bigger place?'  
'I just cannot believe you're driving at this shite again! They will offer me a new contract...'  
'They won't because they are greedy bastards, and you know it. If you go now, nobody will accuse you of anything. Everyone understands that major bosses like Barcelona will want you.'  
'Real Madrid as well,' Steven pretended to sound uninterested.  
'Wankers! Did you refuse?'  
'Not yet, Jose, but yeah of course I'm going to. I will be playing here, how many times do I have to repeat that?'

Jose couldn't decide which he disliked more - Spanish clubs sniffing around or Steven's doltish words. 

'Oh, come off it. What for? For the Liverbird upon your chest and other nonsense?'  
'This is me city, I grew up here.'  
'Bullshit. You've already given them much more than they deserve.'  
'Jose, wasn't it you that said I was right?'  
'Forget it, I sent that on the spur of the moment. And otherwise you wouldn't have won the Ol' Big Ears. But now this chapter is over, Liverpool can keep the thing forever, unless it gets stolen by some local fan.' Steven made a grimace. 'Now you can finally move on.'  
'Anyway, I'm not leaving England. Me missus doesn't want to.'

Fuck it, Jose somehow always forgot Steven had a wife. It was suddenly painful to come to terms with. 

'She's from Liverpool, a local girl,' Steven added, as if apologising. What a _surprise,_ really.   
'All right, no freaking continent, stay in Britain. Just promise me that when you get bored with wasting your career here, you will think of Chelsea.'  
'Can't imagine this happening, but okay.'

Steven grinned.

'Honestly, didn't expect to get that text from you, after all we said. It shocked me almost as much as our first goal.'  
'Well, I didn't expect I would text you, either,' Jose shrugged his shoulders, but felt he was smiling uncontrollably, and this didn't often happen. 'Just felt it would be right to drop you a line.'  
'That was nice, what you did, and I'm happy everything is clear between us now.'

 _Is it?_ Jose thought bitterly. You understand nothing, and somehow it makes you even more attractive. But okay. 

He suddenly remembered those butterflies his mother used to show him when he was a tyke. If you want to enjoy their beauty, never try to catch them, she would say. They have too fragile wings. Of course, Jose didn't take her word for it. He needed to see it for himself. And after hurting two or three butterflies he had to give up.   
Why did it spring to mind?

~~~34~~~

The British media are such whores. They either praise you or kill you, there is no grey area. Now they definitely chose the former. Suddenly Gerrard and his team were everywhere, they became national figures, keepers of the English spirit. Preposterous crap, half of the team spoke very little English. But in Steven's case this was well deserved, of course. 'Golden boy,' 'The embodiment of our national character' - they were inventing glorious names by the minute. Jose just hoped it would not turn Steven's head with flattery. 

Roman wasn't too happy about the whole state of affairs, but at least Jose could promise him Gerrard would consider their offer some day.

'This guy is not very quick on the uptake,' said Roman. 'Has to grow accustomed to the idea of joining us next season.'

Jose nodded. He personally didn't believe it one bit. He knew that at least right now Steven wouldn't go anywhere, for some weird reason he saw his future as red. Maybe the man had the right to make decisions however wrong they be?

~~~


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Steven almost left his team in the summer of 2005, just a few weeks after their stunning victory. Like many others I was frustrated and speechless when I read that news.  
> But in this fic it happens a year later, in 2006.

~~~35~~~

For some weird reason now Jose didn't want to press Steven at all. There had been times when his favourite dream was owning Steven, taming him, but now something changed. He still got turned on by the idea of domination and possession, but the problem was that now he got to know Steven better.

He was quite different to what one would think. Most footballers were more or less gormless, Jose had learnt that long ago. They were like dangerous animals, capricious and unpredictable if given too much freedom. He got attached to them, but never saw them as equal. Most of them had to be ruled with an iron fist to keep them performing. They were fragile and expensive, but didn't deserve much respect after all. 

However, Steven was something else. Jose couldn't explain that, but there was something peculiar about him that just couldn't be ignored. Jose tried to analyse it. Was it his appearance? The way he talked? Some odd sincerity that he exuded and that struck a chord in Jose's heart?? His sense of humour? The way he sometimes looked into Jose's eyes?

They started meeting occasionally after the Istanbul final, and almost every month went to the same Carra's pub, with lots of precautions that amused both. It was always Jose who invited, and it was always Steven who agreed. Jose was very careful so as not to appear too intrusive. He easily memorised Steven's training schedule and Liverpool fixtures for the season to figure out when he might have the time. He never called, just texted and was quite ingenious inventing different phrases to suggest hanging out together. 

~~~36~~~

Still things were going surprisingly well for Steven. He was awarded Player of the Year, almost everyone voted for him, and it was only fair. In May Liverpool won the dramatic FA Cup final against West Ham. Naturally, Carragher couldn't resist the pleasure of rolling the ball directly into his own net, this lad had extraordinary consistency. But then came two unbelievable goals from Steven, and in the end Liverpool won on penalties. Steven was sure there were so many victories and trophies waiting for them ahead, but Jose didn't see it coming. 

The sad and obvious fact was that Steven seemed just head and shoulders above everyone in the squad, which is never a good thing in a team sport. It was impossible Steven didn't understand that, but yet felt obliged to stay. His coach clearly kept saying the same old crap about their great history, unique fanbase and Steven being born and bred Liverpudlian. Frankly, Jose couldn't even blame Benitez for that, they were surely desperate to keep their best player. But listening to Steven repeating this nonsense was rather depressing, he reminded Jose of a donkey running after a carrot, and many a time Jose had to bite his tongue not to say what he actually thought of all that. 

Meanwhile, Chelsea were going amazingly, with the second Premier League title in a row Roman couldn't say his coach was just wasting his money in vain. Jose relished being the media's favourite manager, and the results his team was showing made him proud of the boys.

Nonetheless there was nothing he treasured more than these rare chances to see Steven. Certainly, they could not be friends due to the age gap and rivalry between their clubs. But Jose felt that Steven really liked him, found him entertaining, enjoyed his company, and little by little Jose could get closer to him providing he was wise enough not to ridicule the port team too much. There was nothing romantic about their meetings, Jose was careful not to drop the slightest hint which could scare Steven away. 

One thing Jose needed to know was what the hell had made Steven kiss that prick Alonso on camera after the match in Istanbul. Steven didn't even blush.

'Journos kept asking me about that episode, and I had no clue what on earth they were talking about. I asked like, me kissing Xabi, what? So, they showed me that moment which I couldn't even remember. Mate, I hardly realised what was going on, we were all just fucking crazy.'

Jose decided to believe that. 

They were discussing games, and Jose never got tired of listening to Steven whatever rubbish was passing his lips. And in all fairness, he didn't often talk _complete_ rubbish. Steven wasn't an idiot, he was an observant bloke and very often what he said impressed Jose, though on many occasions he failed to follow Steven's logic.

'So, you truly think Chelsea won the League because of Roman's money?'  
'Are you kidding me? Everyone knows that. To spend on players like you do...'  
'And you denounce that, don't you, Steven?'  
'Of course! Apart from the fact he robbed millions of those poor Russians, you're just ruining football.'  
'The grapes are so sour today,' smirked Jose. 'Imagine for a second that Roman chose to buy Liverpool instead, invested loads of his dirty money... Then it wouldn't be so terrible or ruinous to football, would it?'  
'If you are trying to say I'm being hypocritical, then okay, you're probably right. Maybe I'm just envious, because honestly, Rafa's hands are tied, we cannot offer top players much. Jose, I'm just desperate to win the fucking League, would do anything for that.'  
'I've an easy solution. I'll show you where to put your signature, and I can guarantee you'll win it within a couple of years.'

Steven looked at him reproachfully.

'You know what I mean, Jose. I want _Liverpool_ to win it, not just me!'  
'Steven, your problem is that you are a fan more than a professional, when it really should be the other way round.'  
'I get your point, but Jose, I cannot change who I am.'  
'No one makes you. You may still remain an ardent supporter of Liverpool, but enjoy a glittering football career elsewhere.'

Steven sighed and shook his head.

'That just sounds wrong on so many levels... At least Carra understands me. I know _he_ would never swap teams.'  
'Possibly has something to do with the fact he's never been tempted to join Barcelona or Real? By the way if I were Rafa, I'd recommend Reina to wear brighter shirts. Might help Carragher to tell one goal from the other.'

Steven smiled. This was what mesmerised Jose about him, he didn't use to pout and liked some banter. As long as it concerned his teammates, himself or even Benitez he was okay with that. Nevertheless, there seemed to be an invisible mark which Jose was careful not to overstep. For instance, he wasn't quite sure Steven would appreciate some jokes Frank told him. _(If you kill yourself, it's called suicide. If you kill someone else, it's called homicide. If you can't win the league for twenty odd years, it's called Merseyside.)_ When it came to Liverpool's great history and especially fans, Steven somehow turned into a total blockhead. Sometimes Jose just ran out of patience.

'I'm afraid I'll never understand what attracts you in this toxic club.'  
'It's me whole life.'  
'They must be adding something to your tea, take care. What you're saying is positively moronic. Look, you cannot even explain why you have to stick with your team.'  
'Perhaps because I love it? Love cannot be a well thought out choice.'  
'Well, it should be.'  
'Oh, come off it. This shite happens to everyone, when you fall in love you are rarely able to rationalise.'  
'Sounds rather disgusting. Steven, love is hugely overrated.'  
'But still it exists. You just see this person and suddenly you feel an irresistible urge to be near, however hard or irrational it seems.'  
'Utter tosh. Never happened, never will happen to me,' Jose smirked.  
'I don't even know whether to applaud or to feel sorry for you.'  
'I personally feel sorry for those who live in a world of illusions.'  
"Don't we all in some way?' smiled Steven.

Later, at home he remembered Steven's eyes, a stray lock of hair on his forehead, his horrible Scouse accent with all those 'tha' instead of 'that' or 'meself' instead of 'myself.' Jose found it endearing. So adorable, but still a nutter. Jose sniffed scornfully. He felt superior to Steven, driven by strangest ideas and 'love.' Jose simply needed to shag him. Alright, maybe more than once. 

_Never happened, never will happen to me._

~~~37~~~

At times Jose felt rather desperate, finding himself in such an unusual situation. Normally he didn't have to _woo_ somebody, let alone someone _that_ clueless. People would just get the message and show if they were interested or not, and they often were. But with Steven it couldn't be so easy, of course. While he wasn't in Jose's team and they met occasionally they were not actually close. 

The cost of a mistake could be too high. It was impossible just to touch his knee, wink and say, 'I happen to know a nice hotel nearby.' Jose had a suspicion that in this case Steven would start to his feet and storm out of the pub never to return or see Jose face to face again. So, Jose had to listen to riveting stories of what Finnan said to Riise ('you never use your left foot mate') or what Carra thought of Rooney ('pathetic little piece of shit'). Very informative, indeed. Jose even had to put up with his admiration for Benitez, though in all honesty, there was next to nothing to get so excited about. 

But there were times when Steven told him something about himself, some childhood memories, and that was always great to hear. His face softened and Jose thought that maybe the whole thing was worth it. These stories still had ridiculously much to do with Liverpool: first time at Anfield as a kid, a cousin dying at Hillsborough, young years at Academy, but there was much more - school adventures, first friends and enemies, parents issues. This somehow triggered Jose's own memories which he didn't use to share with anyone. That was rather weird, he'd never expected he would enjoy opening up to anybody.

Probably Jose just needed to be patient. His intuition was telling him that if he waited a bit, some opportunity would arise.

~~~


	10. Chapter 10

~~~38~~~

Something was going on, and Jose failed to put it into words. Two previous times they had met Steven seemed out of sorts. Something was eating at him, and now he was definitely on edge.

They were sitting in that crappy pub, and Steven was avoiding his eyes. Jose patted his hand. This gesture looked extremely possessive, but Steven was obviously too distraught to pay attention. He gradually got used to long hugs when they met and said goodbye, having no idea what these brief physical contacts meant to Jose.

'What's wrong, Steven?'  
'How did you know?'  
'It just kind of shows, mate,' Jose said mildly.

He had long ago noticed the man was really hopeless at concealig his emotions. Quite a despicable trait, Jose always thought. Steven gave a long sigh and slowly withdrew his hand.

'Everything. Literally _everything,_ Jose. Shall I list? Alright. Rafa, no one understands him now. He won't tell me what's on his mind, and how am I supposed to guess? There are some, erm... conflicts in the team, and honestly, I cannot manage them any longer. They don't listen to me at all.'

He seemed as if he was about to go into details, but then just shrugged his shoulders.

'My club...' he looked away and swallowed, 'my club apparently isn't that much interested in keeping me, no new contract, nothing. For fuck's sake, Jose! I'm not a money-loving greedy git, you know. But I've done something for the team, and I thought me contribution deserved to be recognised. They've been feeding me false promises for months, and still refuse to even meet with me agent.'  
'I told you so,' commented Jose, and instantly regretted that. Not the best time to give himself a pat on the back for predicting this situation. Anyway, Steven didn't seem to hear his words.

'My parents are divorcing. They've been trying so hard to hide it, though I smelt a rat, and now it all just clicked into place.'  
'That's too bad, man,' said Jose in his most sympathetic tone.  
'"Bad" doesn't even begin to cover it. To crown it all, Alex and I, we are going to split up. We are complete strangers, and if it wasn't for the kids... Ah, and Carra is getting married. Of course, I'm really happy for him and all that, but one just cannot help but feel a bit dejected at such moments,' he cracked a forced smile. 'Long story short, I suddenly realised me life sucks.'

In other circumstances Jose would give a lot to hear this news. Steven disappointed in his club, heartbroken and lonely, kind of left behind by his friends... Just brilliant! But the expression on his face made it impossible for Jose to really enjoy this turn of events.

'It will all sort itself out, I'm sure,' and he felt these comforting words sounded terribly trite.  
'No, Jose. It won't sort out itself, _I_ am the one to make a decision, and I've actually already made up my mind. I...' he averted his eyes, 'I'm leaving the team. Leaving the city.'

Jose thought he'd misheard.

You're... _what?_ Wait, you cannot be serious.'  
'I fucking well can! Listen, do you still want to have me?'

~~~39~~~

Jose seemed to forget how to breathe. For years he had dreamt of hearing these few words, and yet he wasn't prepared for that. He fought the impulse to pinch himself.

'Chelsea agents have been trying to tap me up all these months. In fact, you know - _well, of course, you know!_ \- they never gave up.'  
'I wasn't aware of that,' Jose had to admit. It was Roman, the sly fox, going behind his back. Most likely, wanted to surprise him.  
'But Steven, are you sure? It's not how such decisions are made.'  
'And _how_ are they made, pray tell me! Jose, I just cannot stand this shite any more. Everything has gone to the dogs, even in friendlies I'm playing so much worse than I used to because of this sickening atmosphere. I just don't feel needed here any longer, though Jose, I never... never imagined it could happen. But I believe I still can play well. Though, who knows? Maybe you aren't interested any more, I know I've become a pale copy of meself.'

It was partly true, the latest games had been rather poor, but Jose was sure this was temporary.

'Cut it out, mate. You're one of the best in the world, and you're still young. I'd be over the moon if you joined us at Stamford Bridge. I just don't want to take advantage of what seems your moment of weakness. Something is telling me you can't mean that, Steven. People need you.'  
'What people? Manager who has never ever talked with me like a friend, like you do? Owners who refuse to pay me what I deserve? Friends who are either too selfish in their happiness or engaged in squabbles about goddamn everything? The woman I used to love calling me dirty names? And the rumours about her and... Well, it doesn't matter. Do you truly think I should try to put up a facade like me parents did?.. Fans who don't know me _at all_? One day they kiss the ground you tread on, the next day they curse you, I'm tired of this bloody hysteria. I've had enough of this shit, I just want to be a good footie player in a good club, feel appreciated... No, Jose, I give up. You were right all along, and I behaved like a lunatic. I'll be fucked if I miss this chance.'

Jose took a long breath. Christ almighty, why did he even have to argue with Steven?

'Good. If you need to turn over a new leaf, you've made the right choice. Took you a bit too long, eh? But I'll be delighted to see you at Chelsea.'  
'Then keep your eyes peeled for tomorrow's news.'

Steven rose from his seat, patted Jose's shoulder and was gone.

~~~


	11. Chapter 11

~~~40~~~

Jose had trouble going to sleep that night. So, all these years of hopeless waiting were finally over. What had seemed some unattainable dream came true. And he pulled it off so easily! He had thought he'd have to spend long hours painting a rosy picture of London life, convincing Steven what he could achieve if he had a generous contract, played with the best footballers, for the best coach... And in fact it was Steven who was anxious to join Chelsea and Jose even pretended to be so noble, giving Steven the chance to change his mind. What a hilarious joke, really. He couldn't help chuckling.

They could be together, without Steven's stupid teammates, family... Lord, now they could meet _every day,_ and no one would ask a question. And then, one night he would invite Steven to his flat, and everything would happen. Now it just couldn't go wrong. Jose opened a bottle of champagne, he had something to celebrate.

In the morning he got woken up by a phone call. It was Roman, voice smug as hell.

'Have you seen the news, Jose?'  
'I was sleeping, for fuck's sake!'  
'Open your eyes and smile to the world. You will love it. Your little obsession must be sated now. I got you your precious midfielder.'  
'Gerrard?' Jose had to ask just in case.  
'No, Maradona,' Roman gave a short laugh and hung up.

Jose turned on the telly. Just in time, though they were definitely showing that non-stop on sports channels.

A tall man, Steven seemed stooped and tired in that interview. He didn't look into the camera.

'Of course, it has been a tough decision. But I have put in a transfer request... I'm going to join Chelsea. I must... thank the club for all they have done for me,' his voice got shaky, just for a second. 'No more comments, sorry.'

Jose's mobile was glowing with messages, but he felt no desire to read congratulations. He had won, he'd reached his long-awaited goal, it was a triumph, but...

Should a victory really smell like that?

~~~41~~~

Jose switched off his mobile. Something was still strangely, horribly wrong. He needed to mull it over.

Was it because Steven didn't look particularly happy? Well, that was only natural, he was nervous. Perhaps appalled by the scum in the street wanting his head.

Was it because now, having reached what he wanted, Jose didn't know what to do with it? Definitely not the case. Oh, he had all sorts of ideas on what to do with Steven, both on the field and off the field. He'd been planning it for so long, and his desires hadn't faded one jot, he was eager and ecstatic.

But not too ecstatic to become completely blind. The thing wasn't that Steven looked unhappy, no. The problem was that it seemed he would never be happy again. Jose felt irritated, why so much drama? A player leaving for a more successful club, no biggie.

Jose knitted his brows, thinking. What made Steven so special, after all? Enormous talant, naturally. Quickmindedness, leadership, all this stuff. But there was something else - his unreasonable, unquestionable, uncompromised devotion to his city. Not because he wanted to look holier than thou, it was just the way he felt, it was the core of his personality. His deep and so many times proclaimed love for this shitty place, that was what described and defined him, and somehow made him so outstanding. 

Jose opened his laptop and watched some videos on the internet.

...Steven celebrating a goal...  
Naturally, Jose had seen that loads of times, but now it suddenly occured to him probably no player could excite Anfield the way Steven did with his sprint celebrations. This lad literally owned the entire crowd, he just had that special connection with their wacky fans.  
...Steven kissing the badge on his shirt...  
...Steven in Istanbul, delirious with delight, saying, 'How can I leave after a night like this?'   
...Steven telling Jose endless, boring stories of Paisley and Shankly...

Then Jose remembered one late night in the pub.

~~~42~~~

It was a splendid evening, Steven had a window in his fixtures and even had a pint. This gave Jose some hope and he finally decided to put a move on him, drop a double entendre perhaps, and watch Steven react. Who knew, maybe some alcohol could make him more amenable? And then Jose made the mistake of mentioning Owen. Steven's face momentarily lost its chummy relaxed expression and strained.

'What? You think he made a mistake?' Jose asked quizzically.   
'Jose, you were not here, while I saw how it all happened. We were best pals, grew up together. I thought we'd always play at Liverpool, till the end of our career.'  
'How disgustingly romantic,' Jose rolled his eyes.

'Oh, shut up. He also felt this way, but then these people from Real started following him everywhere, singing accolades for his flair, telling him how he was above us all and offering more and more each time. You would throw up if you heard them, Jose, I swear! We all laughed at them. It was just when Rafa came to us... And then Michael suddenly sits on the bench in the Champions League match! Michael on the bench, who would've believed that?'  
'Your coach simply didn't want him to be cup-tied, that would reduce his price,' said Jose.  
'An expert, aren't you? And I only realised it during the match. After the game I just stormed into Rafa's office and shouted, 'How dare you even think of selling Michael? He's Liverpool through and through, he can't go!'  
'And he explained to you it was your friend's desire to leave, not the club's policy,' Jose remembered those days, the summer he came to Chelsea. He didn't find the story of Owen's move particularly unusual or tragic, simply logical. And his departure weakened a rival team, which was always pleasant. But Steven obviously had his own bizarre views.

'Jose, the team needed him, the city adored him, _I_ needed him, he was a living icon here, but that was of no importance to him now. Suddenly he alienated himself from me, from Carra and the rest of the lads, mentally he was not here. It sucked to feel, Jose... And pretty soon he was gone. He threw a huge party, and everyone got ungodly drunk, and we promised to keep in touch and all these bollocks... But of course we didn't. We lost a key player, and I lost a friend because he opted to go. He was telling me, 'But mate it's Real Madrid' like I fucking cared.'

'Steven, now this is just selfish, how old are you, boy? Owen was smart and did the right thing, who could predict his career at Read would turn out a shitshow? Such things take place every day, this is what we call life. When _Real Madrid_ wants you, it means you've been chosen, it's a privilege, one just cannot say no, it's the peak every footballer hopes to reach. No one hesitates or refuses when Real comes knocking.'  
'Jose, I did, and Carra would as well, though as far as I know they never in fact contacted him.'  
'Never? Unbelievable and extremely foolish of them. Bet they are regretting it every day,' murmured Jose.  
'How incredibly witty, never gets old. So, folks down here aren't particularly fond of Michael any loger.'  
'Steven, I cannot believe you _hate_ him.'   
'Of course I don't. He is still a top bloke, and he did what he considered to be right, like everyone should. But, Jose... Okay, I know you'll take the piss of me, but I don't care. When he left, he lost something and doesn't even realise it. Talk with him, watch his interviews, you'll see that. He could be a hero here, but chose to become one of the Galacticos, not even a particularly successful one. These people in Madrid, what did they know about him, his background?'   
'Steven, cool your jets. The guy did what he wanted, and I doubt many people see this as such a terrible mistake.'  
'I just know that _for me_ it would be unbearable. I would not be the man I am if I left, this is me whole life. When we were still teenagers, he and I, we swore to stay in this team forever, to stick together whatever happened. We were Liverpudlians, do you get it?'

Jose hardly managed to keep a straight face.

'Did you remind him of this solemn feudal oath of fealty?' Jose asked, biting the inside of his cheek.  
'Course not. I may be stupid, but not _that_ stupid, Jose. But many of us, lads from the Academy, felt the same back then, we knew we had the honour to represent the city.'  
'Steven, you appear to be the only one who still remembers that,' Jose said fondly.

Steven smiled, his face softened, 'Well, I know I'm an idiot.'

~~~43~~~

Jose sprang up to his feet. It wasn't late yet, everything was still recoverable if he just hurried up. 

But how could he talk with Steven? Jose had a feeling that if he appeared in the city, this friendly dockland scum would just burn his car and throw his dead body in the river Mersey. Living near the Mersey they had little mercy, what a gorgeous pun. 

Jose tried ringing Steven, but naturally he wasn't replying. Either the mobile had exploded with threatening messages from supporters (why on earth call them _supporters_ if they behave like monkeys and every year promise to kill you?) or Steven simply flushed it down the toilet, which was only reasonable.

It was a matter of minutes to get Alonso's mobile number, and it also was switched off. Then Jose realised that probably all the Reds were under such pressure that none of them could be reached by phone.

But wait. Steven mentioned Mr Own Goal was getting married. With a little help of his assisstant Jose managed to find the phone number of his soon-to-be missus, a certain Nicola. 

~~~


	12. Chapter 12

~~~44~~~

'Hullo?' replied a hesitant voice.  
'Am I speaking to Nicola?'  
'Ye are. Who's tha?'  
'If I tell you my name will you promise not to ring off or scream or say it aloud?'  
'What the hell? Are you fooking He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?'

Oh, some sort of a cultural reference, who could expect it in this family?

'I'm slightly worse, Nicola. Please be kind and promise.'  
'No.'

An _excellent_ beginning, wow.

'Nicola, who the hell's tha?' Jose heard the shrill voice that unmistakably belonged to the fiance.  
'Tell him it's a neighbour. Please. This is very important.'  
'Jamie, it's Mrs Simmons'.  
'Tell the bitch to piss off!'

 _What a sweet guy he is,_ thought Jose.

'So? Explain yerself or sod off.' 

Nicola was a sweet lady, too. How nice they had found each other. There was some hope they wouldn't mix these genes with the rest of humanity. 

'Shh. Nicola, this is Jose Mourinho.'  
'You bloody piece of dogshit...'  
'And I want to sort it out. Nicola, I have no intention of stealing Steven from the city, I swear. It was a mistake.'

She went silent, probably trying to process this enormous chunk of information.   
When she spoke again, her voice was low, and Jose took that as a good sign.

'Why you calling me? Where you got me number?'  
'It doesn't matter. Listen...'  
'No, you listen. Your team is a huge load of dung and you're an ugly syphilitic sheepshagger.'  
'I'd say, it's a matter of opinion, Nicola. But okay, whatever. There's no time to lose. First things first - I want the same as you all. Steven should stay in Liverpool. It's where he belongs. We would be happy to see him at Chelsea, but even I, an utter syphilitic sheepshagger, have to admit you deserve him more. His heart is at Anfield.'  
'Yeah. Once a Red always a Red!'

It seemed to be their password. Must be the first words babies say here.

'Right, glad we see on many things eye to eye.'   
'Either Red or dead!'  
'Well, I wouldn't put it this way, but if you say so... Nicola, is he in your house?'  
'Nah.'

Jose felt he was on the verge of hitting his head against the wall. All this time spent and efforts made in vain?

'He's just gone out with Jamie to have a ciggy.'  
'Never knew he smoked.'  
'Hahaha, he didn't. Started an hour ago and almost finished the pack.'  
'Nicola, now do as I say, and the world will be forever grateful. Take your sweetheart aside and pass the mobile to his friend.'

There was a silence.

'Right. Still your rotten team sucks.'  
'Like a hoover. Please, do it.'

~~~45~~~

'Steven, it's me.'  
'Oh, hello. You know, man, I'm afraid I'm not in the proper mood for chatting today. I'm sorry, Jose.'

On hearing his voice, Jose's throat tightened. Steven, gentle as ever. How on earth these people, he and Nicola's future husband, could be best pals?

'I have seen the news.'  
'Well, looks like everyone has. This is what I was telling you about. Fans appear to be erm... a bit disappointed. But I expected as much, so it's no problem. They will forget.'  
'You know they won't. And which is more, you yourself will never be able to forget it. What does Mr Surprise Striker say?'

Steve chuckled in a nervous manner.

'Carra? Shall I skip the cursing?  
'I'd be obliged.'  
'Then he said nothing. Seems like he... didn't approve of me decision, but will support me anyways.'  
'Shockingly wise of him. Steven, you're about to make the hugest mistake in your life.'  
'What? How come _you_ can say it? Wasn't it you trying to lure me from here? What has changed, am I suddenly so dire now?'  
'I'll tell you later why I was doing that, now forget it. Our bosses still yearn to sign you, so no worries, and they have no idea I'm phoning you. Well, I hope so. You're still a top player that any team could dream of.'  
'Then what are you talking about?'  
'Steven. Your uniqueness is not only your flair or ability to score thirty-five-yard screamers. It has something to do with loyalty, devotion and other idiotic bullshit you filled your head with when a boy... That's why you feel so bad, and not because you got intimidated by the scum from the docks.'  
'Scum are thirty-one miles up the river!'  
'Alright, how could I forget, Manchester are scum, and your fans are all good-natured fellows, delicate like flowers. Steven, frankly speaking, can you imagine yourself donning a blue jersey?'  
'I... I thought I could. But the longer I think of it... Jose, it's the Premier League, for God's sake! It's not just the wrong shirt, it means coming to Anfield, celebrating goals there, playing against Carra...'

Jose had to suppress a laugh at the appalled tone of Steven as if playing against the fearful Carra was somehow equivalent to playing against Platini, Beckenbauer and Zidane - all in one person. But the anguish in Steven's voice was so obvious that Jose didn't smile.

'But what can be done - _now?_ I've already said what I said. The die is cast and all that shit.'  
'Not to worry. Listen, listen attentively. Are you fucking listening to me, Steven?'  
'I am.'  
'Tomorrow, tomorrow morning you say you have made a mistake.'  
'What? Jose, mate, you're cracked. That's impossible.'   
'Why? People are such sinful bitches, especially in this Merseyside Eldorado. They like to know no one is perfect. You'll find the proper words, I'm sure. Rafa and the bosses will be on cloud nine when they learn you decided to stay. Everyone will like you even more, believe me.'  
'Even if they accepted me back, what would it look like? I'll be seen as a traitor, the newspapers will...'  
'It's a small price to pay. And you've always been a media darling, you'll be forgiven pretty soon, just believe me. After all, actions speak louder than words. If you stay, how can anyone blame you?'  
'You're saying this as if it's so damned _easy.'_  
'It is. Deep inside, you feel I'm right, everybody just knows that you belong here.'  
'But... wait. What about your club? It means that I sort of deceived them, giving them false hope and all.'  
'Well, if I were you, I wouldn't concern myself too much with _Roman Abramovich_ being an innocent victim of deception.'

There was a silence, quite a long silence. And just when Jose started getting nervous, Steven finally spoke, and his voice was hoarse. 

'Jose, you're motherfucking right. How can I go anywhere, that's a folly... Thing is, I thought I've burnt all bridges behind me, but really, I haven't even _signed_ any paper. I'll explain everything tomorrow, and they'll listen to me.'  
'Sure, mate. They all adore you.'

Silence again, as if Steven was thinking something over. _Oh, no._

'But... Jose, why are _you_ doing it? I mean, troubling yourself with finding me, solving me problems though it's clearly against your own interests. This is so... noble, definitely contradicts what everyone thinks of you.'  
'The explanation's simple. I'm secretly in love with you, have been hiding my passion for years. But now, when you're about to fall into my arms, my better side suddenly won and I decided to lend you a hand.'

Steven gave a short laugh.

'You just can't resist pulling me leg, can you? Anyhow, I can't thank you enough for calling me tonight.'  
'Now go to bed like a good boy and don't drink or smoke with your precious Carra. I'll be watching the news tomorrow.'  
'Jose, I'll never forget it, what you did, I swear. Goodnight.'  
'Goodnight,' whispered Jose and waited till Steven hung up.

Now he had all eternity to hate himself for what he had done.

~~~


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I invented some facts for the fic. For instance, I couldn't for the life of me find what exactly Stevie said when commenting on his decision to stay. I just remember he offered to give up the armband, which Benitez rejected.

~~~46~~~

The next day brought fresh tidings, and everything was just as Jose had predicted. Folks on the streets of Liverpool were chanting and celebrating. Really, they jumped at every chance to skip work.

Steven's interview was quoted everywhere. He didn't even have to be eloquent to win back Scousers' hearts. Just a few simple words like, 'I must apologise to all our fans for causing this frustration. There was some misunderstanding between me and the club, and at some point I thought leaving Anfield could be a better option. But I realised it would be a terrible mistake. Now I know I want to stay here for life. Because I could never, ever score a goal against Liverpool...' He had a sincere look on his face, and people didn't want to be overly critical, or maybe everyone was just a sucker for happy endings. Even some Mancs had to admit that was a heartfelt and incredibly emotional speech. 

The one who didn't deem this interview particularly touching, was Mr Abramovich. Having spent some time in Soviet and post-Soviet Russia, he had his own ways of finding out things. The moment Jose heard his voice he knew his career as Chelsea manager had come to an end.

'Jose, I don't like people making fun of my team. For some reason I thought you felt the same.'  
'Well, Roman, it's a pretty sudden turn of events. Who could have imagined the lad was so changeable?'  
_'Really?_ Jose, you'll get sacked at the end of the season, so better start looking for a new job. And if I were you I wouldn't consider England.'  
'Roman, I cannot believe you're trying to _banish_ me from the island!'  
'You heard what I said, Jose. Good luck on the Continent and never dream of playing the same dirty trick on me again. I appreciate what you have done here, but I don't bear cheating.'

Well, that what something new, coming from one of the richest men in the world.

~~~47~~~

They finished the season not as successfully as Jose had hoped for, this time coming second. Not that Liverpool could be very proud of themselves, either. Alex Ferguson and his team were at the top, and for Jose it was really time to find something new. He loved the feeling of starting everything afresh, turning new leaves. If the Continent, may it be so. After all, his employer was generous enough and paid off everything he had to. Rumours had it earlier he would just drown people in cement-filled barrels for smaller sins. Finally, Britain had taught Roman some good manners.

So, Jose had nothing against moving to Italy or France, but there was a fly in the ointment. His departure would make it almost impossible so sneak to that lousy pub. Not that they did it so often now.

After all this story, Steven was always the focus of media attention. Probably, they expected him to get up to something similar, and being spotted in the company of Jose definitely was at the bottom of the list of things Steven dreamt about.

~~~48~~~

As time passed and Jose could have some introspection, he immediately regretted everything he'd done. How was it even possible to be such a dimwit? He had often seen people make brainless moronic mistakes, mistakes that affected their whole lives, and never felt the slightest urge to prevent that from happening. Why was it different now?

Okay, he'd done it, and what did he get in return? Being forced to leave the country? Leaving the team he'd already grown attached to? Having talked to the marvellous Nicola?

Perhaps, the most important thing he got was a 'thank you' from Steven, but did it really make up for all the fuss? Sometimes Jose thought it did, but more often doubted that.

He knew that what he'd done had no explanations, but for the soppiest ones. He had simply been an idiot, getting into the shit when nobody really expected him to, and the tide was turning his way.

Of course, Steven hadn't understood his motives, Scousers were terrible at guessing. Alright, even being told _literally_ the truth they proved to be worse than terrible.

Jose regretted that story every day, but suspected he would do something as daft if the opportunity arose. Probably meeting Steven brought out his dumbest personality traits.

~~~49~~~

They met in the same pub to say goodbye. Neither of them had much time.

'I still can't believe you're going away. You never told me you wanted to leave the club.'  
'Honestly, this offer from Inter is something nobody would turn down. One has to move on once in a while. Well, with the remarkable exception of the Loyal One, of course.'

Steven smiled.

'Better tell me, are you happy now that you stayed? I hear fans treat you as a demigod and you could start a cult.'  
'Exagerrating. But yeah, Jose, I'm happy. When the decision was made, I realised I'd rather win very few things here than collect all sort of trophies elsewhere. It's everything combined - the people, the lads, the family and childhood memories...'  
'...the ugly mutant bird on your shirt. Seriously, does this fearful creature even exist or is it some kind of Loch Ness Monster?'  
'Legend has it that it lives in the river Mersey and comes after those who support Everton.'  
'I'm impressed your little village also has some pitiful folklore. I...' Jose's voice broke a bit and his vision became blurry. 'I think I'll be missing you a bit.'  
'Ditto. I really will, Jose. I don't know what made you help me out that time.'  
'It's easy, I'm a cretin sometimes.'  
'I often ask myself how the hell you changed your attitude towards me so drastically - first ruining my life, then literally saving it.'  
'It never changed, I always I hated you, stupid idiot.'  
'Reciprocated,' and Steven hugged him so tight that it hurt, but Jose said nothing, and something was definitely wrong with his face, he simply _knew_ that. 

'Sorry, but I've got to run. The training is in an hour.'  
'And you sipped at that beer! What about sports discipline, Mr Gerrard?' Jose demanded severely.  
'Mea culpa, sir! I only hope the captain will teach me a lesson. Oh shit - I'm the captain meself. We are doomed now!'  
'Captain? In the National Team as well?'  
'In fact, it's just while Terry is injured. A great guy he is, pity he comes from this worthless plastic club.'  
'Is Mighty Carra playing, too?'  
'Sure. He's our strongest def.'  
'Speaks volumes about the power of the Three Lions.'  
'You piece of work. I've no idea why I love you.'

And before Jose could formulate a proper reply, he was gone.

~~~

**End of Part 1**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really pleasant and surprising that some people have read this story, and thanks for kudos and comments. I know it is a weird crazy pairing and that's great someone took interest in it!  
> As I said, there are about one hundred small parts, so the second half has approximately the same size. It has more drama and deals with more recent events.  
> I'd be chuffed to read what you think about this story!


	14. Chapter 14

~~~50~~~

Inter Milan was a splendid place for a person like Jose, simply ideal. He had the freedom he appreciated so much, as it was clear the owners trusted him completely, giving him carte blanche to make any decisions. At first he cut out the deadwood, then invited a bunch of new talented ones, and they fitted together just perfectly. He entertained himself with the idea of trying to sign Steven, too. The bosses would agree. Steven wouldn't. So there was no use asking. Where you can't achieve anything, you shouldn't want anything, some wise guy once said. What a pity Jose couldn't always follow this advice.

For instance, now he wanted Steven. Things were running smoothly, but his absence in Jose's life just couldn't be replaced with anything. And he still was a damn good footballer, he would fit in momentarily. 

Jose wanted him in his bed, which was totally pointless. After all, he had no evidence Steven was interested in such stuff in the first place. Jose heard he had another kid, good on him. But marriage had little to do with passion, Jose knew it firsthand. He was a father of two, yet his dear Matilde never featured in his fantasies. Which starred one particular midfielder on an island where he was forbidden to return by a mafia boss. 

Nevertheless, Jose was enjoying his Italian life to the fullest. Now he had to meet so many people, very talkative gesticulating people. New players, new challenges, but same stupid media. Of course, he instantly incensed local managers like Ancelotti, Spaletti and Ranieri by a few phrases, and his words were quoted everywhere. That was fun. He wondered what would Steven say about that and if he might find it all amusing. 

Before Jose left he hadn't suspected he would miss Steven so much, more than he could've imagined, more than it was reasonable. There had been nothing between them, they were nobodies to each other, and there was no sensible explanation for why this current state of things was so painful. For fuck's sake, they'd just met a few times. _He's not even smart enough,_ Jose thought. _His critical thinking skills are below average, he's terribly biased, he's most probably straight as an arrow. Forget him already you dimwit._ But one thing was certain - his life really lacked Steven.

He knew Liverpool were doing surprisingly well, could even win the Premier League for the first time. With Alonso, Torres and Gerrard at their peak, they were constantly chasing Man United, and the 2008/09 season turned out quite thrilling for the fans. Jose just saw the score after each game, but didn't watch any of their matches, what for?

They didn't contact each other - Jose was too proud to start it, and Steven obviously had clean forgotten him.

~~~51~~~

In the first knockout round of the Champions League Internationale were to play against Manchester United, which resulted in Jose's team losing at Old Trafford after a goalless draw in Milan. However disappointed at the result of the second leg, he still bore in mind: _thirty-one miles,_ he could get there in no time.

Liverpool had just defeated Real Madrid 4-0, quite a sensational result. Anfield was a terrible place indeed. _They must be celebrating, there's no point in ringing him, do you really have to make a fool of yourself._

Jose took a deep breath and dialled the number.

~~~52~~~

Definitely, the future held some surprises for Jose, as the person who replied was not Steven but a male voice with a slight accent.

'Stevie? He's in the shower,' the voice didn't bother to introduce himself, and Jose decided to remain incognito, too. 

'Ah, here he comes. Stevie mate, there's someone on the phone for you.'  
'Hello.'

How many times did Jose need to hear this voice to get used to goosebumps and other uncalled for body reactions?

'Hey Steven. It's me.'  
'Jose, so glad you called.' His voice sounded distant, but decidedly happy. Jose felt something warm rise inside him. 'It's been ages and all that. I heard of your game against the Mancs, I'm really sorry. Are you phoning from that scumhole of a city?'

Jose rolled his eyes. When would Steven grow out of that moronic rivalry? They must be putting something in the water.

'Yep. We're leaving tomorrow. Fancy going somewhere together this evening?'  
'Sure thing. Leave this dump and come to us.'

Of course, leave this dump and come to another dump, but thirty-one miles down the muddy river. Brilliant logic.

But Jose said nothing, and promptly called a taxi.

~~~53~~~

The cabman was a talkative one. Very soon there was little left in his political views and family life Jose was unaware of.

'And I know who you are,' said the cabbie with a contented laugh.  
'Oh, really?' Honestly, how was Jose supposed to react?  
'Visiting some friends?'  
'Yeah.'  
'From Liverpool?'

Jose nodded. Probably it was best to put on his headphones.

'Mark my words, fella, their club is trash at its highest.'  
'Oh, really?' repeated Jose.  
'I tell ya. They are all fucking losers... No idea why they always win.'

Another example of brilliant logic. Jose sighed. Were they all never tired of that?

'The whole team are complete shite. But for Gerlonso, perhaps.'  
'Who's that guy?' Jose frowned.  
'You of all people should know them. Gerrard plus Alonso. The midfielders.'  
'But why combine their names?'  
'Cause they're always together, abject tossers. Bet they're screwing one another all the bloody time, you just take a look at them. Were even making out after their fluke in Istanbul, did you see? Such a disgrace. Couldn't wait to be left alone together in their hotel room. But I shall say no more, I'm not some sort of gossipmonger, sir.'  
'Yeah. I thought as much.'

Jose put his headphones on and increased the volume to max. He couldn't make out a single word of what they were singing though.

~~~


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, half a thousand hits, it's going viral!

~~~54~~~

While waiting at the pub, Jose watched some highlights of recent games on Youtube. He came to the sad conclusion that the cabbie who hated gossips was at least partly right. The stupid Spaniard kept constantly close to Steven, always the first to hug after a scored goal, to stand up for him on the pitch. Pretty irksome manners, to be fair. No doubt the voice on Steven's mobile yesterday also belonged to Alonso. Picking up his phone, the cheek of it.

The worst thing was that Jose had no right to even ask questions. Maybe it was okay and meant nothing, maybe they were just such great chums. To Jose any contact seemed suspicious, but who was he to judge? He had always disliked Alonso and that undoubtfully attractive, somewhat foxy, face of his. They were spending so much time together, probably sharing a room sometimes, and who knew what what was happening behind the closed doors?

Steven texted he was going to be late by half an hour.

Jose suddenly remembered his words, _'Mate, I hardly realised what was going on, we were all just fucking crazy.'_  
And then what the driver said, _'Couldn't wait to be left alone together in their hotel room.'_

No, this was sheer madness, it was simply impossible. Most players are bonkers when celebrating, let alone after such a victory... But goddammit, why did it have to be Alonso? Not that ugly-mugged Riise, not Dudek who won the game for them, after all? Jose knew he would regret it, but decided to rewatch that moment. Just to make sure there was no need to worry.

He concentrated his gaze on Alonso, the bastard was definitely enjoying it, he didn't look surprised at his skipper kissing him, not in the least. Instead he leant towards Steven and whispered something into his ear. He didn't seem shocked. Like there was nothing _unusual._ Like he was accustomed to this sort of tenderness. _Like they had done it hundreds of times before._ Jose slammed the laptop shut, he was hyperventilating. So, he had been so tactful and careful with Steven, avoided smallest hints, and probably _all this time..._

Jose felt he was on the verge of losing control and hated that. He breathed deep and counted to twenty. No, he wouldn't behave like an idiot and let any emotions show. It might or might not be true. If asked directly Steven woudn't be able to lie if there was something beneath the surface of ordinary friendship. Yeah, just a couple of proper questions would clarify everything. Why did he need to know? Just curious.

Oh, sod it.

~~~55~~~

After they said hi there was an awkward pause, which is very typical when people haven't met for so long, want to catch up, but just cannot decide where to begin.

Jose hoped Steven would take the initiative because all that came to his mind was slightly inappropriate.

'Care to know I still moan your name when I come? Funny, isn't it?'  
'I actually forgot how much I like you face.'  
'Since when have you been shagging Alonso?'

These seemed to be poor conversation starters. Steven's mobile was buzzing incessantly with messages and calls, but he paid no attention to that. He hadn't changed one jot, as optimistic and open as ever.

'Pity you couldn't kick mancs' ass this time. How's Italy? Must be unbearably sunny.'  
'Are there people who don't like the sun?'  
'Me. I honestly prefer rainy cloudy days. Like here, you know.'

As if anyone doubted that. He adored everything about the city, inexplicable.

'Yeah, this place is definitely ideal to 'walk on, through the wind, walk on, through the rain' and all that gibberish they sing.'  
'I take it in Barcelona it would be 'walk on, through the beach, walk on through the palms...'  
'...Though all tapa bars be closed and empty... But come on, you can't really mean that you wouldn't like to live in some normal climate? Where it doesn't rain about three hundred days a year, you know.'  
'Are you just curious or inviting me to join Inter?' Steven grinned.  
'Both,' Jose returned the smile.  
'No and no,' and before Jose interjected something, Steven went on.  
'You're just like Xabi. The poor lad can't figure out what I love about this weather, either.'

Jose froze on hearing the name.

'You two have become really close, eh?'  
'U2? You mean Bono and the Edge?' Steven chuckled again. Rarely had Jose felt such an impulse to punch somebody in the face.  
'Just kidding.' Steven's voice became very calm, as per usual. 'Yeah, we are best pals. You must see him on the field!'  
'I have.' _And I fucking noticed the look he sometimes gives you, like you're the only person in the world._  
'Nah, he's made huge progress. He used to be great, but now he's, well... unstoppable! I always feel where he is and what he is expecting from me. We've discussed it and he admitted he felt the same about me. We work perfectly together, there is some special chemistry between us.' 

Was it really so necessary for Jose - to come here and listen to this crap? Some kind of odd and masochistic behaviour.

'You can't imagine what rubbish the cabbie who brought me here was telling me about this chemistry of yours.'  
'Probably that he's my boyfriend? Utter crack. I swear, the whole city is full of perverts and mutants. Carra says he read somewhere they lack a chromosome or something, it's been scientifically proven. Some of them even have six fingers.'

This left Jose speechless wondering how on earth he, not the silliest person in the world, could have fallen for such an idiot. He just hoped it was a joke, but with Steven one could never be certain.

'Are you sure you wouldn't like to join my team?'  
'Jose, not again, please. We both know I'll never leave the Reds, you yourself made me realise that. For the love of Lord, Jose, come off it.'

Before Jose decided how to proceed, Steven's mobile rang once more. This time the tune was different, some popular Spanish song, Jose could never remember its name. Steven kept his voice low while talking on the phone, and Jose didn't appreciate that at all. Perfect. He had bothered to have a special ringtone for Alonso. How freaking sweet indeed.

'Blimey! I've got to rush.'  
'Was it Xabi?'  
'Yeah. Boyfriend's checking me location,' Steven smiled mischievously. 'I'm really sorry, lads are celebrating, I promised to be there. Couldn't imagine you would pop up.'  
'No worries. Run if you must.'

They hugged each other, Steven averting his eyes.

'It's a shame we had so little time, Jose. You know I missed you.'

No, Jose did _not_ know that. Unless Steven was a master of hiding his true emotions it was obvious he had a more tender attachment to a random tree near Anfield than to Jose.

Jose hadn't even asked any questions, but there was no need now. He already knew the answers. He rose from the table and slowly walked out in the rain. 

Really, sod it all.

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly swamped with work these days, but hope to post new chapters once a week or so.


	16. Chapter 16

~~~56~~~

At first Jose liked completely everything about Internazionale. Personally, he thought he deserved a statue in front of San Siro - he won a historic treble: Scudetto, Coppa Italia and the Champions League. Of course, Steven never showed up, nor did he congratulate Jose on his massive success. It was really absurd this still hurt.

After coming second last year, Liverpool were having a shitty season. There seemed to be financial issues with their American owners, fans were irate, the whole atmosphere was wrong and it must have affected their performance. It soon became obvious they wouldn't make it to the Champions League. Jose watched a couple of their matches and it wasn't a rest for a sore eye, to say the least. Another proof Benitez was a lucky but feckless coach. The entire squad were mediocre or dreadful, sleepwalking chaotically around the pitch. It seemed but for Steven they'd be struggling in the relegation zone. Almost single-handedly, he was carrying this bunch of invalids to occasional victories. And even Steven was different now. He still scored and inspired those around him, but far less passionately than he used to, as if something was missing. Jose knew Alonso had left Anfield in the summer of 2009, joining Real Madrid, a smart move indeed. Jose had no idea how Steven was feeling about it, although he could imagine. Anyway seeing him surrounded by the ilks of Aquilani was literally an insult to the beautiful game. 

With time Jose felt more and more tired of Inter. Things were running smoothly, but certain aspects started to get on his nerves. It was difficult to explain that logically, but all in all he just felt bored. Everything in Italy was annoying him, he had reached all that was possible and was yearning for new heights. He felt if either of the two Spanish giants wanted him, he would have no hesitation. There could be interesting offers in England, too, but Jose was unable to predict how Roman would react, so this destination was impossible.

Then he learned Liverpool were looking for a new manager.

~~~57~~~

'Sounds promising, you should contact them,' Jose told his agent.   
'Nah, too risky. They are now below par and in deep crisis, besides the contract can't be that great. It would be a huge step down for you.'

Jose knew those were wise words, yet deep inside had a worrying feeling he could even consider becoming the coach of Middlesbrough if Steven was there.

'I hear they are looking for a British manager this time. Probably realise you're too good for them.'  
'Right. Anyway you should contact them,' repeated Jose.

His assistant shrugged his shoulders but started no argument, he was well-paid for not prying into Jose's affairs. For instance, he never asked why his family hadn't moved to Italy while Jose was there or who were these young handsome men he sometimes saw Jose with when they arranged to meet in the morning. It was no business of his after all. 

Jose really started messing about with some local guys. It was strange he hadn't done it earlier, before his trip to Manchester. But none of them lasted too long, usually just a night or two. Sleeping around was fun and he didn't feel guilty. They were nice blokes, at least some of them, but he developed no emotional bond to any. Maybe, just maybe it had something to do with the fact that every single one he was fucking was Steven, every time they begged for more these were his words. 

Jose knew this was pathetic but tried not to analyse that. Everyone has weaknesses, nobody's perfect. He just hoped it would pass one day. 

~~~58~~~

When Jose found out Liverpool had employed Roy Hodgson, he wasn't even surprised. They had a special proclivity to find the wrong people. Hodgson's managerial talents were appalling and, to cap it all, he looked like half man half owl. Even Benitez was better, for heaven's sake!

Jose couldn't for the life of him understand what Steven was waiting for. Jose decided that once he settled in at a new team he would try his utmost to get Steven before it was too late. Footballers are no chess players, their prime doesn't last long. 

On that day Jose was told Real Madrid were interested in him, and very much at that.

~~~59~~~

Of course he agreed immediately, who wouldn't? Well, Jose knew one idiot that wouldn't, and was going to bring him to Madrid whatever this cost.

Jose was walking on air, this was the peak of his managerial career, it meant world recognition indeed. Best players in the world, richest club, more trophies than anyone, ever. Millions of supporters all over the globe. There was just one thing that slightly bothered him, but he brushed that aside.

This was meant to be a success, the expectations were extremely high. Jose was a proven coach, they were great footballers, some European and world champions with Spain, plus Cristiano Ronaldo. The squad was packed with stars in all positions, just like fucking Avengers. Nothing could go wrong.

Jose was warmly welcomed by everyone. His first meeting with the team went ideal, guys seemed excited to have a manager with such an impressive CV. Then Jose looked at the man standing between Ramos and Casillas. 

'Can't wait to start working with you, boss,' smiled Alonso.  
'Me too, Xabi, me too,' Jose tried to force a smile but gave up and prompty turned around to talk with his assistant.

_Hello darkness my old friend._

~~~


	17. Chapter 17

~~~60~~~

Alonso was, unfortunately, quite a likeable guy. Jose soon learnt he was also composed, imperturbable, and a master at hiding his emotions. Never a wrong word in interviews, never a complaint, never a shadow of discontent with Jose's methods. Other Madridistas would at times grumble about too strict discipline, but not him. 

Once Jose tried to strike up a conversation about Steven, but Alonso was evasive as fuck. Yes, he'd liked it at Liverpool, a great club, nice guys, a very loyal fanbase. Did he become close friends with anyone in particular? Well, they were _all_ top lads. Why did he leave? Difficult to say, a number of reasons. Probably it was just the time to move on. Would he like to see any of his ex teammates here at Real? Yeah, some of them, definitely. For a couple of seconds Alonso seemed deep in thought and then in a deadpan voice informed Jose that for example Jamie Carragher could strengthen any team. His face remained unruffled, but Jose noticed those merry sparkles in his eyes.

'Sod Carragher. What's your opinion of Gerrard?'  
'Stevie is one of a kind, best I've ever seen. Captain Fantastic, both on the pitch and in the dressing room when we were together. Jose, he's amazing in the dressing room.'

This phrase sounded strangely sexual. Yet there were still too many questions. Okay, Jose could imagine what these two idiots enjoyed doing in the dressing rooms and elsewhere. He didn't want the details, he had a feeling he'd be better off not knowing. But what happened that this son of a bitch suddenly decided to move down south? 

From then on many players noticed Jose became very critical of Xabi, it was subconscious and just couldn't be helped. He would barely look at Alonso, so annoyed he felt seeing his mug. This pretty confident face Steven obviously liked so much.

The problem was that Alonso had come a year before Jose, and everyone in Madrid already adored Xabi, his gentle character, his calm words and general friendliness. He'd ingratiated himself cleverly with the Spanish footballers and was seen as an integral part of the team. Smart bastard. Yet he was playing well, and Jose didn't want to find fault with him too overtly.

~~~61~~~

Three weeks later Jose had another talk with Alonso which gave him more food for thought. 

The team were celebrating their brilliant victory over Malaga and Jose caught the moment when Alonso was sitting alone. Everyone else was engaged in some pointless banter while he was absent-mindedly scrolling through his phone.

'Did you have such parties back there in Liverpool?' asked Jose.  
'Yeah, sort of,' Alonso didn't lift his eyes from the screen.  
'I'll never believe you liked the city.'  
'Well, it was not so bad,' Alonso said carefully.  
'I hear they're doing awfully this season. You did the right thing by leaving, I guess.'  
'Glad to hear it. When the gaffer believes in you and approves of your decisions, I mean. So exciting,' he smirked wryly and put away his mobile. 'By the way, you seem to be very curious about their team, boss.'

He looked at Jose intently and there was something deep in his eyes Jose didn't like one jot. He had always detested Alonso but it hadn't occurred to him before now that the feeling might be mutual.

Alonso smiled and looked away. Oh, to hell with it.

'Listen Xabi. We should get Steven here, you know what a fantastic player he is. Could really improve the team.'  
'Come down to earth, Jose. You perhaps don't know Real tapped him up a shitload of times, that's all useless.'  
'Now it could be different. I mean, since you are here he might like the idea.'  
'I doubt my presence is the crucial factor for him,' Alonso's shrugged his shoulders. 

'What did he say when he learnt you were leaving?'  
'Nothing. I don't remember if we ever discussed it.'

_Lying through his teeth, cheeky bastard._

'How weird. Did he ask you to stay?'  
'Nope.'  
'And if he had asked you, would you've agreed?'  
'Well, it's getting late,' Alonso said impatiently, looking through the window.

'Look Xabi. We should get him to join Madrid. He's just rotting there with Hodgson.'  
'It seems they've got some problems this season, huh?'  
' _Some problems,_ are you fucking kidding me? Last time I checked they were _eighteenth,_ in the relegation zone! I cannot for the life of me understand why he's still there.'  
'Probably he believes there's a golden sky?'  
'Where?'  
'At the end of the storm.'  
'What on earth are you talking about?'  
'Nothing. Forget it.'

Jose took a deep breath. Alonso still looked bored and disinterested.

'So long story short, you should talk with him.'  
'You don't know him,' Alonso shook his head.  
'Not as well as you do, obviously,' Jose tried to keep irritation from his tone. 'There's nothing left for Steven there, any sensible person realises that.'  
'The thing is, he isn't always sensible.'

_Yeah, tell me about it._

'If you just convinced him...'  
'He won't listen to me.'  
'Why? Honestly I counted on your help, Xabi. You still keep in touch, right?'  
'No. Haven't been in touch for over a year.'

Jose thought he had misheard.

'What? How's that? Not on speaking terms?'  
'We parted ways, so it's only natural I guess,' Alonso said calmly.  
'Don't you, well... sometimes call or text each other?'  
'Never.'

Jose couldn't believe it. That was shocking if true. Was it a clean break then? Could Steven be bonkers enough to break up because his favourite teammate decided to go? Sounded moronic, but Jose wouldn't put it past him really. Or perhaps the other way round - they'd fallen out and Alonso left? Or was there something else of which he was unaware?

'Anyway, you did well. What future could you have - there? Clearly no prospects for a player of your calibre. You made the right choice.'  
'Did I?' asked Alonso with an unreadable expression. Then he looked at his watch and promptly rose from his seat. 'Sorry, I have to run, promised to be home early.'

Watching him say goodbye to the team, joking, taking the piss out of Marcelo, Jose sighed. He'd secretly hoped to shove all the work onto Alonso, but the Basque was either unable or unwilling to cooperate. A fat lot of good he was really. 

Still Jose was absolutely sure he would think of something.

~~~


	18. Chapter 18

~~~62~~~

The pre-match team talk was going as usual. Ramos' face bore his typical self-satisfied expression as if he'd known all Jose was going to say ages ago. Rarely had Jose seen a more conceited footballer. In his previous teams the players used to catch every word from him and look upon him as an oracle. Well, at least Casillas and the rest seemed to be listening attentively. 

Jose drew a deep breath and was about to continue his explanation, when he suddenly heard this sound. Someone's phone was ringing. Jose got pissed off instantly, how many times had he told these idiots to switch off their stupid expensive mobiles during... He pricked up his ears. It was something very familiar, some old stuff... 'Penny Lane'. _Oh, for fuck's sake..._ And Jose didn't even need to ask whose phone was ringing or who was calling. Alonso muttered some excuse storming out of the room, his face a pale mask. Jose had never seen him like that. He didn't remember how he finished that meeting with the players. His mind was empty save for one inane thought - _so, they've got a special song for each other, how frigging cute, how frigging frigging cute..._

He literally dragged Xabi into his office after the game.

'So?..' he demanded. 'Any news?'

Alonso flashed a cautious look and then smirked.

'Stevie called,' his voice sounded totally indifferent, but this time Jose didn't fall for it. The Spaniard could pretend all he liked. Jose had seen that crazy look on Xabi's face when he heard the phone. 

'Really? How very interesting. So, you're on speaking terms again?'  
'Well, it seems so,' Alonso admitted reluctantly.

'Only took him a year to dial your number, eh? When are you going to meet?'  
'I haven't a clue,' and now it definitely sounded like _none of your business._ Jose decided to cut to the chase.

'Xabi, I'm going to sign Gerrard for Real, he's wasted there.'  
'Pfft, he would never. Because of Owen and other things. You know, Michael now plays for United. Of all clubs he chose to go there, what a legend.'  
'I don't fucking care what this knobhead is doing. I'm talking about Steven.'  
'Nah. Count me out, I'm not helping you with it, sorry boss.'

Okay, Jose was ready for this. 

'It's your son's birthday next month, innit?'  
'Yeah,' Alonso looked at him suspiciously.  
'And Steven will be there, right?'  
'So what?' Xabi was obviously feeling uncomfortable.  
'I'd be really happy to come and congratulate your kid. If you invited me, of course.'  
'Jose, you won't ever persuade him, so save your breath.'  
'Xabi, I'd be _very_ thankful,' Jose repeated in his most convincing voice.

~~~63~~~

Naturally, Alonso didn't feel particularly inclined to invite Jose to his son's birthday, it was a family and friends reunion, after all. But Jose made it clear he wanted to attend the party, and Xabi was clever enough not to spoil the relationship with his coach. 

Jose arrived the first though he had decided the day before to take his time. Xabi's wife turned out quite nice, and the boy looked very flattered to get a train set from the famous Señor Mourinho himself. Jose was awkwardly chatting with the kid and his mother when guests started to turn up, and they were mostly Xabi's mates or ex-neighbours. It seemed there were more people speaking Basque than in Bilbao. 

Jose's head was spinning a bit from all these folks incessantly taking photos of him, asking the same questions and wanting autographs for their relatives or god only knows whom with terrible names. Jose was trying his best to keep his eyes on the front door, but of course he missed the moment Steven showed up.

~~~64~~~

Suddenly all the guests rushed to the hall, and Jose was carried by this crowd. 

When he saw Steven hugging Alonso, his heart sank. Secretly Jose had hoped he wouldn't feel anything special, that he was finally done with this idiocy. Steven said something in his horrible Scouse accent, then kissed Xabi's wife and took the kid into his arms. Seeing him so close, hearing his voice, Jose felt hypnotised and cursed under his breath. Well, probably, he was _not_ completely done with this idiocy. 

Then Jose looked at Alonso and cringed. The sight of his face, the deadest giveaway Jose had ever seen. Practically devouring Steven with his eyes. Alonso was a smart player but Jose swore to himself that if he only managed to get Steven first thing would be convincing the president of Real to sell the Basque, as far away as possible. It would be nice to send him to Sweden or Turkey. Or to the moon. Jose was not allowing these two to be on their own together. 

When Steven's eyes caught sight of Jose, he looked taken aback. Definitely wasn't expecting that. Or, most likely, had simply forgotten such a person as Jose existed. But it didn't take him long to regain his smile and come up.

'Hey, great to see you again, Jose. I had no idea you were so close with Xabi.'  
''Well, I wouldn't call it that. His boy wanted to see me, so I just sort of came round. I'll be leaving pretty soon actually.'  
'Aw, so early? We haven't even talked, Jose.'  
'Didn't know you wanted to talk,' Jose immediately felt how pathetic it sounded.  
'Wait... Didn't you read my message?'  
'I haven't received any text from you for two years.'  
'No kidding, I congratulated you on your victory, in the Champions League. I even suggested we meet somewhere to have a chat. Like we used to, remember?'  
'I didn't see your text,' frowned Jose.  
'Well, little wonder, I imagine how many similar messages you got. Water under the bridge, anyway.'  
'Fancy going somewhere now?'  
'But Jose, I can't just run away from the party.'

Of course.

'Listen. My flight is the day after tomorrow, so let's meet tomorrow perhaps? I happen to know a great cafe.'  
'Agreed. I'll write to you next morning.'  
'Do you really need to go right now?' Steven smiled again and looked into his eyes. This was just more than Jose could take.

'Sorry, I've a plethora of things to do, really.'

And he hared off without even saying a proper goodbye to the host.

As soon as he reached his car, Jose pulled out his mobile. The day they played in the final there was an influx of texts, naturally. That was the only possible explanation why he had overlooked these words.

'Jose, what a victory, congrats! Really happy for you and the team. Hope you know how much I admire you. You're a born winner who always gets what he wants. If you feel like meeting somewhere I'd be really chuffed. Steven'

~~~


	19. Chapter 19

~~~65~~~

It wasn't easy to drive after that. Jose was telling himself the text was absolutely innocent and had no hidden meaning. But hell, it was the first time Steven had shown some initiative or desire to see him. Apart from the very first time in 2004, when he acted like a nutcase and asked to leave him alone, every single time they met it was Jose's personal triumph.

But what if he was reading too much into it all? Just some kind words and a vague invitation - it could mean Steven was only being polite.

All right, he would know for sure the next evening. Afterwards, Jose couldn't even remember what specifically he was doing during the ensuing twenty-four hours. He was to meet with his assisstant, then pay a visit to some distant relatives, but he cancelled it all. He could do just one thing - wait for the evening.

~~~66~~~

The cafe was obscure and not overcrowded, just what Jose wanted. Steven was a little late, and when they hugged Jose felt a subtle scent of wine.

'Sorry, Xabi took me on a pub crawl with his Basque pals. Mind you, they were unwilling to let me go.'  
'I should think so. By the way, I found your last year's message.'  
'Not a very quick reader, are you?'  
'Very touching, really,' he was looking at Steven's face and noticed a light blush on his cheeks. It looked so endearing that Jose felt totally mesmerised by the sight.

They ordered a bottle of wine and some cheese.

'Haven't imbibed any booze for months,' said Steven. 'Hope we won't get too hammered.'   
'We won't,' assured Jose. 'You called me a winner,' he went on.  
'Cause that's damn true. You somehow manage to gain everything you want.'  
'Well, not everything exactly.'

They downed their glasses in silence.

'How long have you been on your pub crawl with Xabi?' Jose asked ironically.  
'Err... We've been to some cool places. But honestly, I lost count,' Steven's face looked frankly puzzled.  
'Then I hail your strong will that brought you here, that's the red spirit.'

Jose filled their glasses once more.

'Where didn't you succeed?' enquired Steven.  
'Loads of things. Cooking. Being patient with people's stupidity. Reading "War and Peace". Getting you into my team.'  
'Carra thought you were sort of obsessed with this one.'  
'Nothing eludes that observant lad. Yes, I damn it all, very much wanted to get you.'  
'Yet when there was a real chance I left me club you acted differently.'  
'I was being a doofus.'  
'You took pity on me and didn't take advantage of me situation. Strangely enough, you turned out to be the only one whose words helped me get things sorted.'  
'Not my proudest moment. Really, forget about it already.'

They drank again.

~~~67~~~

'How's the team doing?'  
'As if you didn't know. We're not in the prime, to put it mildly. New manager, the rebuilding process, all that shite.'  
'Your new coach is a ticking time bomb actually. Doesn't it bother you you aren't getting anywhere in Europe?'   
'Not in the least.'   
'You're a piss-poor liar, Steven,' Jose touched his hand. 'It's high time you dropped it all.'  
'Are you barking mad? How can I leave them, especially now when things are going downhill?'   
'They have been going this way for years. But for you, Liverpool would be struggling against their arch enemy Nottingham Forest in the Championship. They may end up getting relegated this season.'  
'No. I just can't let it happen, Jose! _I can't let us become Leeds._ ' 

His words were filled with such despair and vehemence that Jose blinked. Steven added much calmer, 'I know we'll rise again.'  
'I'd say highly unlikely, but okay. What if it takes ten years or so? You have to think about yourself, don't you really want big trophies? Honestly, never suspected you were so unambitious.'  
'Don't be an idiot. Course I do, I wish we were involved in the title race like two years ago when we all felt that tension, I felt so nervous, and yet so alive... But I just cannot let them down, still I belong there.'

Jose snorted in response. They ordered another bottle.

'Listen. I'm having no more of this nonsense from you. Your future, your whole future depends on what you say now. I'm inviting you to join Real Madrid. This is official.'  
'Jose, why are you doing it again? Why do you have to spoil each time we meet with this shit? Do you really think I'm so dense that don't know about me future and stuff? Do you think I'm delighted with our position in the table? Do you think I don't get regularly invited by other clubs? But I still stay, and it's for a reason.'  
'This reason is called Stockholm syndrome. You can google it, I bet that Wikipedia page contains your name.'  
'I fucking well know what Stockholm syndrome is! You're such a cunt sometimes, Jose.'  
'Because your team sucks? You know, Xabi once said he suspected they were holding you hostage.'  
'He can't have said it.'   
'Alright, he didn't. But that's what everyone thinks.'  
'I don't give a rat's arse.'  
'But I do. Just imagine, playing with Xabi and lots of really great footballers for the manager who believes in you. In the most decorated, most popular club in the world. Getting the money and the attention you truly deserve.'

'Yep. Just like Michael.'  
'No, the opposite of him. Because you will be a success, I just know it. You won't have to play against Liverpool because honestly now they are in a shambles, and practically nothing could get them back, even your efforts. And no one will blame you like they blamed him. Everybody knows how loyal you've been. And,' Jose decided to play his trump card, 'if they somehow manage to make it to Europe and Real has to face them, I promise, I swear to you, you won't have to go on the pitch. You won't ever have to score against your team.'  
'Well, this is definitely unprecedented, I mean the latest one,' mumbled Steven. He asked, his brows furrowed, 'Why are you doing it? Loads of footballers _dream_ of playing at Real. I believe I'm still good, but I'm not the best in the world, or the youngest. I don't want to move anywhere, hell, I don't even speak Spanish, Jose. It makes no fucking sense. I cannot be the one you need.'   
'You can,' Jose said simply and grabbed Steven's hands.

~~~68~~~

'Jose, I'm feeling unwell,' complained Steven almost instantly.  
'Is it because of my proposal?'  
'Probably, such a nauseating idea,' he smiled weakly. 'I just need to lie down somewhere, everything is spinning. Must be the cheese.'  
'Obviously, this Spanish cheese is a tricky thing. Where's your hotel?'  
'I can't remember,' Steven started rummaging in his pockets.  
'Doesn't really matter. I'll take you to my place.'  
'But...'  
'No buts, man.'  
Jose hurriedly settled the bill and called a taxi.

Sitting in the backseat with Steven leaning on his shoulder, Jose was asking himself what on earth he was supposed to do now. Alright, first bring him to the small house Jose had bought when he moved to Madrid, but what next? Shag him senseless? Make him sign the contract with his blood? In all fairness, what?

Well, better and better, now Steven was definitely _snuggling_. His own body took such an interest in this, that Jose was very much relieved when they arrived. Whatever was going to happen they didn't need the cabbie's presence.

~~~


	20. Chapter 20

~~~69~~~

Surprisingly, Steven managed to walk falteringly up to the front door. He pressed the bell-button earnestly.

'They are not opening,' he complained a few seconds later.  
'Of course, you silly thing. It's my house, there's no one in.'  
'I'm scared of such empty houses on a hill, I watched the movie.'

How could one be so dorky and loveable at the same fucking time? Jose opened the door.

'You have a gorgeous place, Jose,' Steven announced solemnly before his legs gave up and he tumbled onto the floor.

Half an hour later Jose was sitting on the couch in the drawing room with Steven's head on his lap. At first Jose considered watching the telly or walking to another room or browsing the web. Yet there he was, stroking Steven's hair and feeling absolutely overwhelmed. 

He had never seen his face so damn close and couldn't miss this chance. When he was sleeping he looked younger and so vulnerable it hurt. 

Jose didn't have enough willpower to resist the urge to lean down and kiss him. It was a pristine kiss, just barely touching Steven's lips, but his eyelids fluttered immediately, and his gaze focused on Jose. A very sober gaze. Jose momentarily shrank back from him. Okay, now it was over.

'Jose? Where am I?' Steven was turning his head in bewilderment.  
'In my house. You got a bit tipsy.'  
'But why bring me here?'  
'You couldn't remember the name of your hotel.'  
'Now I can't, either,' Steven gave a short laugh. 'You could've taken me to Xabi,' he remarked thoughtfully a second later.

_To hell with your Xabi after I saw him look at you that way._

'Yeah, I could, but I brought you here.'  
'Right.'

There was a silence.

'A gorgeous house it is really.'  
'This was the last thing you said before collapsing on the floor in the hall.'  
'Shit, I'm sorry. You know, I don't normally behave like that.'  
'I hope so. Must be the cheese.'  
'Definitely. Never trusted Spanish cheese. So, you carried me here? Must've been a hard job.'  
'Well, it's just a few metres.'  
'Jose, why did you kiss me?'

~~~70~~~

Jose froze. There was no use denying it. 

'I haven't a clue, was some sort of impulse. Perhaps I also had one too many. Just felt it proper to do it for some stupid reason. Sorry.'  
'That was okay. Made me wake up after all.'  
'Yeah, like Sleeping Beauty.'  
'You silly idiot. So, do you often have such an impulse?'

_Every fucking time I see you._

'Not really. I can only blame the cheese.'  
'Oddly enough, I liked it.'  
'The cheese?'

Steven smiled, in his own soft manner that was always driving Jose crazy. Oh, damn it all. He leant forwards and touched Steven's lips, these still smiling lips with his.

'I like it,' repeated Steven with a strange intonation as if slightly amused at his own reaction and pushed himself slowly forwards. 

Earlier when Jose dreamt of this he thought it would be different. He always enjoyed being bossy and assertive, so in his mind he imagined throwing Steven on the bed or leaning him against the table or making him suck, all wearing his number eight shirt. Yes, Jose had weird dreams. But now that they were just shamelessly kissing he found it the most arousing experience he'd ever had. 

They were doing it slowly at first as if expecting the other one to withdraw with a sudden laugh. At least that was what Jose was ready to see. This just couldn't be happening - Steven and him, alone in the house, both slightly drunk. Alright, probably more than slightly. Was it typical for Steven, did his evenings often end up like this? Jose hoped not. He didn't really want to know for fear this would haunt him forever. Now Steven belonged to him, that was all that mattered. 

'We are crazy,' said Steven, his voice hoarse. And he didn't seem amused any more.  
'We are,' whispered Jose, kissing him again, vigorously, his gaze locked on Steven's face. Odd thing, he generally preferred to keep his eyes closed when he kissed. But not this time. 

They were moving faster now, clinging to each other, panting like mad.

'Take off your T-shirt,' Jose said finally in a low, dark voice. Steven gave him a short look and obeyed without any questions, Jose quickly followed suit. 

~~~71~~~

Now his naked skin came into contact with Steven's, their hands and tongues exploring everywhere.

'You look beautiful, always wanted to tell you,' breathed Steven, and Jose suddenly felt he was on the verge of crying.   
'You're phenomenal,' he murmured trying to hold back tears.

He reached for the budge in Steven's jeans. This thing had been disturbing him for the past few minutes. And where did all his imperious attitude go? He just needed to see it, touch it, kiss it, make Steven go unsane with desire, cry out his name...

'No.'  
'What is it?'  
'Just no. We need to stop.'  
'You want it. Why not admit it?'  
'I... I don't know, Jose. This is madness. We both had a drop too many, we are not even close friends. We're both guys, Jose. And I never fancied blokes!'  
'Forget it. It doesn't matter who we are or what we might believe in, all this shit is of no importance now.'  
'Right,' Steven answered a bit hesitantly, his eyes shining, reflecting the too bright light of the bedside lamp. 

Jose switched it off.

~~~


	21. Chapter 21

~~~72~~~

Steven was sleeping next to him on that huge couch, breathing peacefully. Jose, on the contrary, couldn't bring himself to sleep. What had happened was unbelievable. 

Alright, they hadn't had proper sex, but it didn't matter much, after all. Technically speaking, they had just been rubbing against each other like two horny teenagers, caressing, kissing with such vigour like there was no tomorrow. Steven was absolutely brilliant with his whole body clinging to Jose, with his hungry kisses, with his muffled, 'Jose, you crazy thing, what are you doing to me...' 

Jose smirked. To be quite honest, and he was always honest with himself, this had been a rather awkward performance. How come it still turned out to be the best sex of his life? He didn't want to give a reason though. It had been with Steven, end of story. 

And it was only the beginning. If he was too stubborn to leave that lousy city of his, let it be so, it didn't matter any more. They could come here, to this house where it all happened for the first time, whenever they wanted, and no one would know. They would talk for hours, drink wine, watch crap telly, and have wild sex. They would wake up together and do it in the morning. They would have a shower together, then go for long walks. They would learn each other's needs and discover something new every time. Sex would be no problem. Jose understood, or at least he thought he understood Steven's timidity. He was ready to take little steps. It would be such a pleasure to let the other take the lead. Whatever Steven wanted, it could be nothing but amazing. _Take that, Basque._

'What a day tomorrow will be,' he muttered into Steven's hair and fell asleep.

~~~73~~~

Jose woke up and first thing he saw was Steven's head on his shoulder. Jose tenderly watched him sleep but he had to shift. His leg had gone totally numb. Steven opened his eyes immediately.

He sprang to his feet and looked at Jose with suspicion.

'Hey. What am I doing here?'  
'Morning. You're in my house, don't you remember?'

Steven shook his head slowly.

'No... How did I end up here?'  
'You suddenly felt unwell in the cafe. We came to the conclusion it was that Spanish cheese.'  
'Right,' he was automatically adjusting his clothes.  
'And I brought you here, in a cab.'  
'Um... thanks mate. I guess I fell asleep right away?'  
'Well, not exactly. Before that we...'

Steven looked at his own jeans, then at Jose, then at the couch. He was definitely starting to _remember._

'Did we?.. _Oh, hell!'_

Jose froze. Air suddenly became some thick substance like treacle completely unfit for breathing. This outcome simply hadn't occurred to him. Steven's face was a mask of agony and disgust, utmost disgust.

'What an idiot! I just... I cannot explain how it all happened.'

He buried his face in his hands.

'Shhh. Don't worry. There's nothing to get so mad about.'  
'Nothing?! Are you fucking kidding me? Did I... I mean, was I too pushy?'

'Not one bit. We were just a bit tipsy, sort of got carried away, so naturally...'  
'This is _anything_ but natural. I'm really sorry, Jose. I swear, I never...'  
'Me neither,' Jose said in a level voice.  
'We must forget about that. It never happened, did you hear me, Jose? Never!'  
'Sure thing,' smiled Jose. He didn't know how on earth he could still be smiling.  
'I must be off now, my plane is... Where's my mobile?'  
'Here it is, on the floor.'  
'Thanks,' another blush. 'The flight's in four hours, and I need to drop in at the hotel first.'  
'Of course.'  
'I cannot express how I feel about it all, Jose. No idea what came over me. You must be thinking horrible things about me and have every right to. It'll never repeat.'  
'Course, no damage done.'

Steven flinched at these words.

'Goodbye, Jose.'

No hugs this time, and in a second the door slammed behind him.

~~~74~~~

Jose heard the door close, but didn't react. He wiped the smile that had glued to his face when Steven shouted, 'Oh, hell!' How idiotic of him, he wasn't ready for this. That Steven would just think it had been something revolting, something to regret forever. That all his words had been a lie. 

Now, on second thought, Jose realised this was normal, it was so obvious written in the fucking stars. A typical one-night stand, he'd done it dozens of times. Why would it be different now? And Steven wasn't just slightly embarrassed, he looked properly disgusted, like it was the most hideous thing he could imagine. Like he found himself in bed with some monster. 

Steven hadn't wanted it in the first place, didn't want _him_ but wasn't sober enough to refuse. He did try to stop it though, so wrong it seemed to him even in his sozzled mind. And Jose had already started making plans for the future!.. He kicked at the couch but felt no pain. Sell this goddamn house immediately or better burn it to ashes. But what a braindead moron really, to have thought it would ever become their secret love nest. Just a drunk adventure, Steven never wanted it. Most probably pretended he was with Alonso.

Jose touched his shirt and it smelt of Steven, of his cum. Sod it all. He needed a shower.

Standing under the unbearably hot drops of water Jose was trying to wash every memory of this mad evening out of his head. Steven's soft lips, wet tongue on Jose's neck. Steven's nipples, so strangely sensitive. His shiny eyes looking at Jose with love and admiration. Damn it all, that wasn't love, just alcohol. And his face contorted with utter satisfaction and joy when he came. _Then_ he wasn't appalled by what they were doing, yearning for Jose's touch. And in the morning, just a few hours later acted as a freaking coward.

Jose couldn't stop himself from doing what he always did in the shower when thought of Steven. But this time it was so much worse. Before he had been dreaming, and now real images of the past night were flashing before his closed eyes.

When he finished, he gave a long sigh and looked at himself in the mirror. Alright, he knew what a defeat tasted like. Albeit this one was so bitter, he would accept it. Fuck this shit, Jose had to move on.

He locked the door and left the house to never step over this threshold again.

~~~75~~~

If Jose's first season at Real Madrid was good enough, the second one turned out simply sensational. They set a number of records including _one hundred_ points in La Liga, nine more than Barcelona. The bosses and the fans were elated.

Jose managed to organise a crazy tight schedule to work as hard as possible. His aim was to get so exhausted towards the end of the day that he went to sleep immediately. So as not to be able to think about stupid irrelevant things.

Meanwhile Liverpool were enjoying another crappy season, who would be surprised? Certainly not Jose. The previous year they were sixth, now eighth, things were going just as Jose had predicted. Not that he was happy about it though. 

What was Steven thinking, walking under those grey skies of Anfield surrounded by imbecilic teammates, being trained by Dalglish? King Kenny was good to appear in dumb chants, not as a coach.

But soon Jose had no time to ruminate about Liverpool's problems as he had to face some himself.

~~~


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over seven hundred people have read the fic so far, simply amazing, hope some of you found it entertaining. Would be great if you shared your thoughts!

~~~76~~~

Jose felt excruciated before the press conference. How odd, he used to enjoy them when he was at Chelsea and Inter, he was so good at orchestrating the media, playing them like a fiddle. But not now. In London he had Roman who could solve anything. In Milan he had a huge success and the whole team's support. Here it was different, no one was going to stand by him because he had somehow gradually alienated himself from everybody.

Journos kept bringing up that episode when Jose poked Barcelona assistant coach in the eye. No big deal, after all. Jose never regretted that, the bastard really deserved it. The thing was that he couldn't care now, he just felt tired, numb and bored. Tired of newspapers, of being unable to trust anyone, of the stupidity that surrounded him. Tired of the conversations in the dressing room instantly ceasing whenever he entered.

And to crown it all Alonso was late for training, so uncharacteristic of him.

'Where the hell is he?' Jose shouted at the team.  
And Casillas with a strange smirk said, 'Cool your jets, boss. He texted me he's coming, his plane was delayed or something, he'll be here within an hour.'

Jose had no idea the prick had even been away.

'Why didn't he text _me_ then?' 

No one answered.

'How come he goes away when we have so many fixtures?'  
'I hear he went to England just for one day,' Marcelo mumbled casually.

That happened right before their loss away to Granada. Probably it was the final straw, the son of a bitch taking any opportunity to reunite with Steven. Maddening, simply maddening. And these smirks of Ramos, and Casillas' blank face, and the press, and motherfucking Guardiola's shady dealings with refs, and Cristiano so full of self-importance, and Alonso's fake friendly mug when he finally blessed the team with his presence.

Looking at the press, Jose was torn between anger and apathy. They would bombard him with idiotic questions again, and it would be different from what it used to be in his first two years here. Now they didn't find him witty any more, now they were looking at him as though he was in the dock.

Suddenly he spotted a familiar face. It was Tiago, the sports journalist he used to know in his Porto days, the one he'd had a sort of affair with.

Tiago smiled at him and gave a wink, and Jose couldn't help but wink back at him. He hadn't changed much, the same snub-nosed optimistic face. Jose squared his shoulders. No, he was not going to give up yet.

~~~77~~~

They met after the press conference, escaped in Tiago's car. He was silent, and Jose was grateful for that. Finally Tiago pulled up near a tiny park where there were a few empty benches.  
Tiago smiled slowly and lit a cigarette, he had always been a heavy smoker.

'You've had a shitty day, eh?' he half asked, half stated.  
'Pretty well sums it up.'  
'Not to worry, it'll pass. Just don't poke those digits into other people's eyes even if they are asking for it, and all will be fine.'

That sounded rather unoriginal, but it was good to hear. Jose needed someone who knew him, cared for him to say something simple and comforting.

'Nice park. Do you live near here?'  
'Yeah. We moved to Madrid a couple of months back.'  
_'We?'_ Jose lifted a brow.  
'My partner and I.'

Jose flashed an enquiring look.

'Yep, it's all very serious. We are going to get married, actually. We've been together for five years now, while you were busy mucking about across the whole of Europe.'  
'Well, congratulations then.'

Jose tried not to let his disappointment show. When he saw Tiago, someone who'd known him long before, he had nostalgic feelings and thought that a night together would be great.

'A bold thing it is, coming out,' remarked Jose.  
'Not one jot. Who the hell cares about us? I'm just another voice asking stupid questions at press conferences, and he's a chef. Nobody gives a crap who we share the bed with. While you're a horse of another colour, mate. A public person! Or say footballers, just look at them - all married with kids, while I know a few who enjoy screwing their teammates.'

Jose didn't particularly like the topic.

'How about you? I take it, Matilde lives separately?'  
'Yep. I visit her and kids regularly, of course.'  
'But you've got someone?'  
'Nope. It seems what we had in Porto was the longest relationship I'm capable of having. Fuck, that sounds pathetic,' he shook his head.  
'Well, now I'm flattened. The Special One's special one, no one could beat it.'  
'Yeah, if things get really tough you could write a kiss-and-tell book.'  
'Honestly, how weird you didn't find someone.'

'Probably I did,' Jose admitted reluctantly.  
'Wow, good for you. You guys must be careful though, we media are such cunts.'  
'No, that'll be no problem actually.'  
'How so?'  
'He didn't notice.'  
'Wait, wait. You didn't even tell him?'  
'Course not, obviously he's not interested.'  
'But did you try to make a move on, like saying nice things to him...' Tiago clicked his fingers, 'compliments, you know?'  
'What for? I'm not a man to sing the praises of anyone. Anyways, he hears them often enough. I was trying to open his eyes, but he prefers to be deluded.'

Tiago knitted his brows.

'How do you mean, _deluded_? Is he in a sect or a cult, I don't know?'  
'Yeah, one could call it something like that,' Jose smiled bitterly.  
'An odd story, man. But you could give him some clues, helping him out and all that.'  
'Well, funny thing, I did. Even had to move to another country because of this.'  
'Goddamn unbelievable. Sorry, but you never seemed a person to sacrifice much, let alone your career, for the sake of some relationship. And after all that he still doesn't even get it?'  
'Nope.'  
'Must be incredibly dense.'  
'He definitely is.'  
'Or blind.'  
'Maybe.'  
'Or probably he just doesnt't like you. Sorry mate.'  
'That's alright.'  
'You sure?'

Jose nodded.

'Hell, it's eight already. I have to rush, promised to be home at seven actually.'  
'Certainly your cook will forgive you.'  
'He will, but I just don't want to make him nervous. I told him about you and me, so he undersands, but still... I mean, I really need to run, I'm afraid.'  
'Course, that's okay. I'll be sitting here for a while though.'  
'I could give you a lift.'  
'No, that's okay.'

They hugged.

'Quite a saga, what you told me.'  
'Nah, quite an anecdote, I'd say.'  
'What's he doing now?'  
'No idea. But knowing him must be something extremely moronic.'  
'I have a feeling you will meet soon.'  
'Hope to never see him again really. Must be exciting though.'  
'What?'  
'Nothing, forget it. Bye, take care!'

_You know your chef might get worried if you're faithful to him. Must be an exciting feeling, that. When they care who you sleep with. When they care about you at all._

~~~78~~~

It was Iker who started all that, there was no doubt. Of course, this season their performance was far from perfect, but some idiots preferred to blame anyone but themselves.

Honestly, legends must know when to leave, like his pal Raul had done. But Iker turned out a stubborn one. Perhaps he couldn't come to terms with the fact he was too old for Madrid. Perhaps he didn't like Jose's personality. As for Ramos, he had always been a cunt, so there was little surprise. What Jose never expected was Xabi also turning his back on him. The bastard changed his ways with Jose, and very dramatically, after Steven left. Probably got wind of what had happened, though it looked unlikely. He just seemed to develop almost supernatural intuition when things concerned Steven, and Jose often caught his heavy suspicious look when he thought Jose wasn't watching.

Jose knew they disapproved of his decisions, his tactic, his demeanour, his line-ups. Many players sided with Casillas, the news of this dissent was leaked to the media, and now everyone was discussing Jose's conflict with half of the team. Spanish idiots had very short memory indeed. Perez, the president of Real Madrid, was on his side, but only in words. Of course he depended more on his players, his papers, his sponsors. And none of them really liked the Special One.

The Champions League title could change everything, and Jose was desperate to win it with Real. This was what everyone expected him to achieve, and this could shut some gobs. In the semi-finals they were drawn against Borussia Dortmund, which everyone considered quite lucky.

Their defeat 1-4 in Germany came as a major shock. The score was rather humiliating, as well as the ease with which the team from Dortmund tore Real to pieces.

Their coach surprised Jose greatly, and not in a pleasant way. Never had he seen a manager with such annoying and cretinous manners. He was desperately trying to pass himself off as a charming guy, constantly beaming, showing a set of disgusting yellow teeth and laughing like a hyena. What a weird guy that Klopp was. Jose personally wasn't in the mood for smiling. This defeat shameful per se, also meant that his enemies in Madrid could speak out. And of course they did.

Jose was woken up by a late night call. He answered the phone and heard Roman's voice.

'A little bird told me you aren't enjoying your days in Spain any longer. Fancy coming back?'

~~~


	23. Chapter 23

~~~79~~~

Coming back to England, at first it sounded like a joke. Until Jose suddenly realised that deep inside he'd been thinking of it for a couple of weeks.

'I was under the impression you didn't want to see me, Roman,' he said because he wanted everything to be clear between them.  
'I have changed my mind.'

And what was Jose waiting for, some apology?

'Roman, I'd be happy, but my contract here...'  
'You needn't bother about that now. See you in London very soon, Jose.'

And he rang off. A very laconic person.

England... Place where everyone knew and many admired him. Where he had reached success. The highest level of competitiveness, best supporters in the fucking world. And surely Jose's second tenure at Chelsea would turn many heads. Anything would be better than this shitstorm at Real.

Lying in bed, he smiled calmly.

~~~80~~~

Jose hadn't known he was missing England so much, he was enjoying every second of it. No heat, lots of really good clubs, not just goddamn El Clasico. 

Liverpool had just had another crappy season, but must've got accustomed to it by now. They were currently managed by Brendan Rodgers, whom Jose knew well because of his previous work with Chelsea. 

Once or twice Jose was about to phone Steven but just failed to find the proper words. After all, Steven knew he had returned, yet showed no desire to talk. Probably it was reasonable to leave it at that. The main problem was that now Jose couldn't simply ignore his existence. It had been easy in Spain but not here when his name popped up every minute. Quite unexpectedly Liverpool started the season brightly, and after another victory Jose decided to text. 

'Hey Steven. How's it going? Watched you smash Crystal Palace yesterday, congrats and all. Hope to see you some time soon. Jose'

'I was wondering if you would show up. Glad you did.'

'What about meeting in the same trashy pub tomorrow at 7?'

'Sure. See you.'

Jose knew if he was clever enough, they could start afresh. Meeting like good friends from time to time. He gave a long sigh. They were both civilised men, so what could happen? _Just don't mention that episode, and everything would be perfect._

~~~81~~~

The moment Jose saw Steven's face it became obvious it would be fucking difficult not to mention. Steven, on the contrary, seemed quite oblivious of the past.

'Brendan is a great guy and a top manager, we all love playing under him.'

_Remember writhing and squirming **under me** not three years ago?_

'Yeah. We used to work together, you know. He helped me a lot at Chelsea.'  
'I was really chuffed you texted me. It's sort of relieving there's no misunderstanding between us.'  
'Sure thing. Personally I must say I hardly remember anything.'  
'Me neither.'

There was an awkward silence.

'But what I'll never forget is how amazing you were to me in 2006. Honestly, it always nonplussed me a bit. Okay, I shut up. I know you hate talking about that.'  
'Then forget this story already.'

They chatted much longer than Jose had hoped. All of a sudden he told Steven everything about his Real tale of woe, and Steven was extremely sympathetic. Jose knew he wasn't particularly fond of his own ex managers and some teammates, but he never criticised them. Steven seemed to make a point to demonstrate unconditional loyalty to anything Liverpool related. 

_How would it feel to train a team with such a captain?_ Jose thought. What if _he_ became the coach of Liverpool? With these new owners things were going slightly better, and if Steven was by his side... They could move mountains, they really could.

But of course it was impossible. Roman would never approve of this, and, more importantly, no one was inviting Jose to Liverpool. 

'Care to join my team, by the way?' he asked in a humdrum tone.  
'Oh, come off it, Jose.'  
'Really, don't you fancy playing at a good club for a change?'  
'Have you not seen Suarez, Sterling? We can play against any big team now.'  
'Play against, sure you can. The only tiny problem seems to be, well, winning. You know, when you score more than the opposition.'  
'We are top of the table after seven games, you idiot.'  
'Didn't know the season ended in October.'  
'You simply hate it that your apprentice Brendan may outperform you. This season will be special, I feel it.'  
'Bollocks, you always feel it for some mysterious reason.'  
'Jose, you just can't imagine what it would mean to us, the players and the fans. It's been so many bloody years since we won the League!..'

Jose was about to say something snarky, but then he saw Steven's face, and his heart melted a bit. Why not let a man dream, for fuck's sake?

'Well, who knows, maybe you won't muck everything up this time,' he said much softer than he had intended.

~~~82~~~

And it seemed Steven was right. After seventeen weeks they were at the top of the table again. It was almost unbelievable how Brendan had changed the team. They were giving great performances and scoring loads of goals, leaving Chelsea behind. Suarez was constantly running like a man possessed and Sturridge seemed a gem of a player, as well. 

Steven's only sorrow was that they rarely kept a clean sheet.

'The thing is, we have lost our best defender,' he explained, and Jose remembered Carragher had retired in the summer. 

According to Steven it might seem Pele or Lev Yashin had left the Reds. Jose personally thought that Carra's absence could only strenthen any squad, especially when you never knew into which net he was going to kick the ball this time.

'What is he going to do now?' Jose asked though he wasn't the slightest bit interested.  
'Carra? Well, he could do lots of things I guess. He's really very intelligent, knows an awful lot about football.'  
'I'll have to take your word for it. Never could make out what he says.'  
'Well, he does have _a bit_ of an accent, but one can get used to it. And honestly, I always thought he had a good face for television.'  
'He's got a good face _for radio.'_

'It's the fifth time we've met and you haven't invited me to join Chelsea.'  
'Don't want to be too predictable. But in case you're interested, Roman says we could offer you a really lavish contract if you came to us in January transfer window.'  
'You know the answer, right?'  
'Yeah. Sometimes I think I would respect you much less if you agreed. But what a pity you just love sticking to some idiotic decisions.'  
'I love sticking to the _right_ decisions.'  
'Some people would call it narrow-mindedness. Really, Steven, what's so special about this place? Okay, your home city. But I was born in Setubal, and I'll be damned if I ever return there.'  
'But I was born in _Liverpool.'_

_Capital of the world, obviously._

'The same cesspit as Setubal, a depressing port town.'  
'You know fuck all, Jose. It's one of a kind.'  
'Sometimes I start to suspect you like Liverpool more than me.'  
'Sometimes I think I like _Everton_ more than you,' said Steven with mischievous sparkles in his eyes.

Jose couldn't help smiling. No matter they were not lovers and most probably they would never be, Jose enjoyed talking with Steven much more than he wanted to admit. 

If only it was possible to dismiss those images running through his mind. At times Steven came to him in his dreams and it was so different from reality, so fucking different. In those dreams he was always hungry for more, telling Jose he belonged to him... 

The awakenings were hurtful.

~~~


	24. Chapter 24

~~~83~~~

When they met next time Steven was positively elated. After defeating Man City Liverpool's destiny was in their own hands. If they managed not to drop any points in the few remaining matches they would really win the League. Chelsea, on the contrary, had just lost a game, and Roman made some snide comments about that.

'Is that a smile I see? You're beaming like the sun.'  
'You just don't know how it feels to have been waiting for years till your dream comes true.'

Well, Jose fucking _did._ Only in his case the dream said it had all been a mistake and fled like a bat out of hell. Normally Jose would just block the memories of that evening, at least while they were sitting in front of each other. But now something had gone wrong. Jose felt extremely tired and frustrated with his poor result. And this idiot was radiant with happiness, having completely forgotten how he was clinging to Jose that night. Bastard. 

Jose knew he needed to get rid of such thoughts, suppress this surge of anger. Steven was fiddling with something in his hands, a sort of trinket. 

'What's this?' Jose asked just in order say something, 'A fan's gift?'  
'Fans, no. Xabi gave it to me yesterday. Always bringing me some weird stuff from Spain.'  
'Didn't know he was here.'  
'No, course he isn't. They've a game tomorrow. But when he can be comes here for a day and we have a whale of time. Remembering his days at Anfield and all that.'

This was the precise moment Jose knew something had broken in him. How brainless of him was to forget these two could still be meeting on a regular basis. Doing what they always did regardless of where they played. 

No matter what Jose did, no matter what he said - there _always_ was Xabi. Always. It was exasperating, literally maddening. Probably Alonso knew everything about that Madrid story. Probably they both found it amusing now.

Jose realised Steven had been rambling on about something for a while. 

'...so then I actually started believing. And if it happens, if it only happens, oh Jose... You have no idea what this will mean for us, for the whole of the city...'  
'Obviously another pretext to get ungodly drunk and become everyone's pain in the arse chanting 'We did it nineteen times,' so everybody will hate Scousers even more. Which is hardly possible though,' Jose drawled contemptuously. 

He would often say something similar, and Steven would reply in the same manner, and they both knew never meant it. But this time Jose's tone was different, and Steven momentarily felt it was no banter. His hackles rose.

'What are you getting at? You know our supporters are unique. Any club dreads playing at Anfield, you yourself admitted you hated coming here.'  
'The most intimidating arena indeed... Mostly because you have to keep an eye on your wallet constantly.'  
'What crap. Scum are notorious for that, not us.'  
'Wow, the pot calling the cauldron black. Honestly you're like identical twins, both ugly and full of hubris.'

Jose gave Steven an intent look. God, he was marvellous - hyperventilating, pupils dilated, eyes flashing indignantly. It was always so easy to get under his skin. And why hold back - _now?_

'But you're right, there's one major difference between you two. At least United didn't get so many fans murdered as you did. And then putting two ugly flames on your badge, doesn't make up for that, mate.'

It was twenty-fifth Hillsborough anniversary and Jose knew how emotionally invested in it Steven was. But he was fucking done respecting Steven's feelings. Steven jerked away, his posture changed. 

'Maybe you enjoy reading _The Sun?'_  
'Maybe. So many riveting stories there, a quality newspaper indeed.'  
'Jose... What's got into you? Is it a joke?'  
'Joke? No. You know what's a joke? Liverpool Football Club.'

'If you despise my team so much, why meeting with me?'  
'A good question really, that. I've been asking myself for years. You used to entertain me, but now it's just so fucking boring.'

Steven visibly tried to compose himself, that had never been his strong suit though. He still refused to believe Jose actually meant to hurt him. A huge, enormous mistake.

'So I'm too dumb for the Special One?'  
'Well, coming from the city where average IQ rarely exceeds the speed limit and befriending Carra speaks for itself.'  
'How very interessting. But just doesn't add up, you know. Then why did you do that thing back in 2006? Why seeing me on a regular basis? Behaving like me friend? Why seeking me company?'  
'You wanna know? You _really_ don't like to strain your brain, do you, Steven?'

Jose couldn't believe his ears. Everything was so obvious and still the moron didn't get it. What else was Jose supposed to do? Get a tattoo, a special banner in front of his house? Write it five times on his forehead? Lord love a duck, he had said it once.

'Why a rival manager talks with the club capitain who is known for being a bit on the daft side? I was doing it to find out a couple of things about you strategy, you knobhead. To know what Benitez had in mind. And to tempt you to Chelsea. Roman would make me do it, not that I ever enjoyed talking with you.'

Steven's face was priceless to watch. 

'No, no, no. Utter rubbish!'  
'Yes, yes, yes,' he mimicked Steven. 'I'm telling you now as we won't be meeting again. There's nothing I need to know from you. I'm so damned tired of listening to your blithering. You can't even imagine how _boring_ you are. I reckon your wife hates it when you are at home.'  
'Jose, what the hell...'  
'You may say your club is doing well, but we both know these are fluke victories like that one in Istanbul, you simply don't deserve them. You are a bunch of pathetic wannabes... I can see you bottling it at the end of the season and your dear Suarez fucks off to Barcelona. Probably Sterling will leave as well. Exactly like Owen, Alonso and Torres did, like every normal person would do.'

Steven just opened his mouth to protest, but Jose didn't give him this opportunity. Christ almighty, he had a lot to say.

'You will never ever win the Premier League, mark my words. And you know why? Because only quality teams are capable of that, not some bindippers. And you are old, Steven. Wake up, Neo. All your gift has been wasted in vain. I wouldn't like to see you in my team even if you were pleading me. Like you were pleading that night in Madrid, do you remember?'

There was such an air of disbelief in Steven's face that Jose barely managed to keep eye contact. But he did so and smirked lazily.

'You dirty piece of shite. I wasn't pleading, that's a lie!'  
'Begging on your knees like a little puppy, asking me to screw you. You must have forgotten. Merseyside story in a nutshell - little pervert, getting pissed, behaving like a slut, unable to remember anything. Sadly typical.'

Steven stood up, his face was a mess.

'I... I hate you. I will always hate you, no matter how long I live, I'll never forget this. You are... Sod it.'

He jumped to his feet and dashed towards the door.

'Maybe I'll sell this story to _The Sun,_ what do you think?' Jose shouted but Steven didn't look back.

~~~84~~~

So, he had done it. It was strange this had lasted so long. Any passion, any lust just wears off if not fed properly. Jose suspected he would regret it, but now just felt immense relief. Enough of this playing civilised men, enough of pretending. One couldn't enjoy peaceful chats when all he had in mind was screaming at Steven every frigging time he saw him, 'How _dare_ you not remember? How can you act as if it never happened?'

If they couldn't be lovers, okay. Jose was done with this weird false friendship. They would be enemies, good old-fashioned enemies.

How opportune that it was the end of the season. Three teams were at the top - Liverpool, Man City and Chelsea, with Liverpool clearly having the best chances. They just needed to defeat Chelsea at Anfield to secure the title. 

Jose was going to do anything, practically anything to stop that from happening.

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid new chapters won't appear too soon, loads of work these days... But this story will definitely be finished)  
> Thanks for kudos!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I apologise if this flashback still hurts

~~~85~~~

Seemingly unimportant details matter.  
Ball boys are paramount.  
How you talk before the game is pivotal.  
Having full control over your feet is vital.

 _'This does not fucking slip now...'_ he said.

The streets of the city were throbbing with the rhythm of their new song 'We're gonna win the league'. Scouse idiocy, always celebrating too early. 

Roman hardly ever called Jose before games respecting his hectic schedule. But this time he apparently decided to change his habit.

'Jose, going by TV reports it looks like the title race is over. '  
'Far from it. These pundits are just braindead.'  
'I'll be disappointed if they end up winning it this season... Pity we weren't able to sign Gerrard. I saw a couple of their games at the weekend and was impressed. I used to suspect Gerrard's over the hill, but no, he still has it. Keeps bailing them out of the shit they belong to... We could try again this summer though. It's become a funny tradition, you know.'  
'Roman, I doubt he'll be a success at any club not named LFC.'  
'Yeah, probably. But just imagine if we sign him and then he gets benched forever. They'd be completely toothless and he'd be furious. Would be great fun to watch, that.'  
'Fun or not, I don't want to see him at our club, ever.'  
'Look who's talking! You have been so obsessed with signing him, for entire years, and now would refuse to train him? What's going on between the two of you? Does he owe you a fiver?' Roman chuckled.  
'Nothing to speak of, we just sort of detest each other and we'll never work together.'  
'Now, now. If you say so, I'm not stepping in. I really hope to enjoy today's match, Jose.'  
'You surely will. I have something up my sleeve to surprise dear old Brendan. Just watch the game.'  
'I always do, Jose,' and he rang off.

Jose reclined in his armchair and looked intently at himself in the mirror. He felt he was totally ready.

~~~86~~~

Even in twenty years people will still be talking about this match. How Jose managed to surprise his vis-a-vis with his bus tactics, how fans were getting mad watching from the stands Chelsea simply refusing to attack and destroying all the moments Liverpool managed to create. Very naive of Brendan to play like this, thought Jose with a light smile.

He used every trick in the book to disrupt the pace of the game, break it down into tiny moments. Chelsea players were constantly doing their shoelaces, each throw-in and free kick took ages, and every now and then some of his boys appeared to suffer from all sorts of cramps. Their keeper was trying his best, too; he always took his time ruminating with the ball in his hands. It was a proper time-wasting masterclass. 

Soon Jose grabbed the ball on the touchline and when Steven rushed to retrieve it, simply hid the ball behind his back so Steven had to wrestle with him. Then he grinned in Steven's face and threw it away. It ate up some more seconds. Ticking away, ticking away, ticking away... 

It was ugly, maddening and cynical. It was effective.

He loved seeing Steven getting more and more frustrated, all his efforts futile, stopped against this simple, boring defence. _How do you like it now,_ Jose thought. Standing an inch away from your dream and watch it slowly torn to shreds. Tossed and blown, like they sing. 

Now ironic Steven had used these very words, 'we can't let it slip'. What an elegant turn of phrase, really. _It will haunt you forever now._

Two consecutive blunders of the captain, the latter being his infamous slip. Jose couldn't believe his eyes when it happened, he hadn't even hoped for such a gift. The gods definitely had some sense of humour. 

Gerrard couldn't believe what had happened, either. At first Jose thought he would start rolling on the pitch like a baby or die of a heart attack right there. He desperately rushed after Demba Ba just to see him slide the ball past the keeper. Jose's boys did their best to exploit this success. They conceded no goals, and as time was running out, and the stadium loud as ever, the Reds were getting more and more nervous. Steven was desperate to make amends for what he had done, trying too many stupid long-range shots, but it was all useless. In another hopeless attempt to score they missed a counter-attack and Chelsea made it 2-0. Jose caught sight of Roman in the stands, he was smiling wryly. _'Alas, poor Yorik,'_ he texted Jose.

When the referee blew his whistle Jose was the first to celebrate. Normally he was quite reticent about their victories. This time they weren't even seriously contending for the title, but it felt like they had just won the League.

He was enjoying every second of it and wanted Steven to see that.

~~~87~~~

Jose always took great pleasure in talking about that game.

'Such a shameful mistake, it is unforgivable in world football. Of course it could happen to anybody. I once slipped when I was walking down the stairs...' he smiled. 'But when you're the captain, and your team is just one step away from getting medals in so many years... How long has it been, does anyone know?' he asked the journalists. Jose knew perfectly well, he just wanted the interview to hurt Steven and his crazy fans the most. 

'Twenty-four years now, wow. I had no idea know it was so long,' he chortled again and shook his head. 'What I was saying, any of us might slip. But doing so in front of your supporters, at your home stadium, in the most important game of the season perhaps... Totally unexplainable.'  
'Did it affect the title race, how crucial was this moment?'  
'It was the key moment. It gave the title to Man City. Liverpool lost the points and lost the title. It was already in their hands but it, well... slipped. It's as simple as that. This blunder has cost them the league.'

He knew Steven had seen those interviews, everyone had. These were true words, and it was nice to rub it in whenever the opportunity arose.

_But still, but still, but still._

When Jose saw Steven's interviews after that game, he shuddered internally. The man looked so ruined, absolutely heartbroken. Of course, there's always someone to lose, that is the point of any sport. And there were other good players, good managers who hadn't achieved much. For instance, Alan Shearer won nothing at Newcastle...

But watching Steven talk was just excruciating. Everyone knew he'd been carrying this team on his back for years, and now the chances of them rising that high next season were nigh zero. 

Jose knew how it felt to lose, but he didn't remember himself being as devastated as Steven. Jose just knew that there would be another game, another season, another team, some great new challenges. But it was curtains for Steven. 

Jose even started to regret his words in the interviews. Yes, he intended to make Steven suffer, but he didn't want him to suffer _forever._

_'Forget it already, you miserable idiot, cheer up mate,'_ he wanted to shout through the screen. _For fuck's sake, stop being such a drama queen, look outside - the world, still turning._

Yet he seemed gutted. Jose very soon realised that all his words, all the memes, all fans' disappointment didn't torture Steven half as much as he was torturing himself, taking the blame for their trophiless run. In his interviews he avoided looking into the camera. Why did it have to happen? For crying out loud, the season consisted of thirty-eight games, whatever crap Jose had said it couldn't have been entirely his fault. But Steven had been pinning too much hope on the title this year, and he had lost it all. 

Jose remembered his words at the pub and that insulted humiliated look in Steven's eyes. The fact they had lost to _Chelsea_ must've increased the pain. Happy now, Jose?

There was was no point in pretending he wasn't feeling like shit. Jose kept telling himself he had done nothing wrong, but he simply knew something that he thought was dead and buried, was rising inside of him. They had been enemies, then friends, then lovers just for one night, then friends again, and now the wheel had turned full circle, and they were back to where they had once started years ago. Perhaps it meant their story wasn't over yet?

On that day Jose texted Steven for the first time.

~~~


	26. Chapter 26

~~~88~~~

He wrote lots of messages, but sent just a few.

'Steven, forget that stupid game. I'm sorry for what I said after the match. It wasn't your fault. And I'm sorry for what I said when we last met.'

No reply.

'I just said that to hurt you, was too annoyed with my own problems at that time. This has nothing to do with you. I never meant it.'

No reply.

'When we would meet, I enjoyed it really much. What I told you was bollocks. And forget all I said about your city. And about Madrid, it was a lie. You know, I never meant it.'

No reply.

'I never meant it, Steven.'

No reply.

Then Jose tried phoning and learned the number was blocked. Steven must have done it right away after their last encounter. Or after the game. Or after the interview. Anyway, he never read anything Jose had been sending.

Obviously, it couldn't be helped. One had to move on.

~~~89~~~ 

The next season was exceptional for Chelsea. They were top of the table since the first week and comfortably secured the title in early May. Jose was enjoying every moment of their run. He repeated that in all his interviews.

Meanwhile, Brendan had to face loads of issues. The previous season proved to be the best they could get. They lost Suarez just like Jose had predicted, and Sterling obviously wanted to go, too.

Now Brendan often left Steven on the bench, and it was unsettling and sad to see him, the captain, sitting there when his mind was obviously on the pitch. Suddenly the age and some nagging injuries began to tell on him. Even in the European matches he wasn't in the starting eleven, which Jose couldn't conceive. Was Brendan trying to break the man completely, make him lose all faith in himself? So Steven passed the armband to Henderson, Jordan fucking Henderson as captain of Liverpool, what could be more compelling evidence of decline? 

At the end of the season Jose caught wind they were looking for a new manager, again. His heart missed a beat. He realised he wanted this position, wanted more than anything else in the world. Roman would go mad, but it didn't really matter. Jose knew he would manage. He would even kiss the damned bird on his shirt if it was necessary though he sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to fall so low.

Of course, Steven hated him, but Jose knew he'd never go against the manager. And little by little Jose would make him forget the words he'd said. Steven was still a great player, he just needed a proper coach.

He told his agent to meet with Liverpool representatives and say he was very much interested. They seemed interested as well. Jose felt it was some special unprecedented moment in his career. This time he could really become the coach of Liverpool! Money played no role here. Jose knew he wasnt supposed to let them see how little that bothered him. They didn't have to know he was ready to get twice less to be able to become in charge of the club. 

He would change everything. Give their marching orders to some of Steven's dross teammates who couldn't hold a candle to his talent. Steven would still be captain, and he would give him the right partners. 

He was quite positive about his future now, the negotiations were in progress. Next season he would turn over a new leaf, doing something he'd always craved. The owners seemed ambitious, he would be given enough money and bring success to this team. And everyone in the stupid city would love him.

On that day he decided to watch a Liverpool game, just to get used to the strange and warm feeling it was now _his_ team. He needed to find the worst ones in order to sell them in the summer. The last match of the season, and of course they were losing again. This time to Stoke City, 1-6, what a disgrace.

But what was it? The atmosphere at the stadium was really odd, why were all these people singing and crying, at the same time? Well, chanting was typical but crying, had anyone died or what? They were definitely very weird folks, he sighed.

And then the cameras showed Steven with a microphone standing on the pitch next to the Kop.

'Just before I go, before the tears come. I've played in front of most supporters around the world but let me tell you, you're the best... Thank you very much, all the best,' his voice broke.

 _No._ Fucking hell no! This could not be happening. How could he be leaving now, when Jose was just about to guide this useless team back to the top? He almost shouted, 'Stop, you moron! What the hell are you doing, could you not find another moment for this shit, say, three years later? You are not even old yet, for fuck's sake! Maldini played until he was forty... We could win the Premier League, together! Why are you leaving, now?'

Or maybe... maybe _that_ was the answer, he knew about Jose coming, his pride was hurt in too many ways and he decided it was simply more than he could take?

Lord, Jesus motherfucking Christ, what had he done?

~~~90~~~

Jose stopped all negotiations with Liverpool immediately. He didn't care what they might think of him. He was clinging to the hope that when Steven learnt Jose wasn't coming he would stay. Vain hopes, really. This butterfly had already been broken, and Jose had no one to blame but himself. 

He had made Steven leave, it was obvious as fuck. Leave the team where his heart belonged, and with no prospects of playing elsewhere. He would never ever win the League, just as Jose said. Of course he could join practically any relatively good club and spend a couple of seasons there. If he were a normal reasonable person, but he had never been. Bloody hell, there was just one place on earth where Steven could be happy, and he hadn't left when they underpaid him, gave him shitty coaches and teammates, when the results were shameful, when he was benched for entire games. Yes, Jose could really be very proud of himself.

~~~91~~~

When Jose found out Steven was heading for Los Angeles Galaxy he cursed under his breath. He was much worse than Roman, the Russian only banned him from the country, but Jose outmastered his boss. He managed to make a man go to the other fucking _hemisphere_ , where people knew nothing about football and even called it wrongly. And the climate, Steven always hated the heat and the sun. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. A brilliant job really, Jose.

The next season turned out disastrous for Chelsea. They lost so many points in autumn that it was clear they would not be title contenders. Roman was utterly disappointed and didn't even to try to conceal it. Of course, nine defeats in sixteen games couldn't be considered a remarkable result. One of those defeats was a 1-3 home loss to Liverpool, now managed by Klopp. This German git with a cringeworthy laugh of a chainsaw maniac, with his false smiles and extremely annoying demeanour, now came to England and instantly became the media's darling. 

Jose knew his days at Chelsea had come to an end. The turning of the wheel, indeed. 

There were no hard feelings, no strings attached. Roman paid him all he had to and didn't say anything about leaving the country this time, which was very relieving. Jose decided to stay in Britain and see what the future held for him. When Manchester United approached him Jose wasn't even surprised, must have lost the ability to feel so long before. He didn't hesitate to agree, it was a new challenge, and Jose always loved that. 

But before signing the final papers he felt an urge to talk with Steven. That is to say, this time the urge was irresistible. He didn't tell anyone where he was going, he said nothing to his agents, just bought a ticket to California. As for his wife, his family had long before lost interest in his whereabouts.

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised the match against Stoke City was an away game, and Steven's farewell to the supporters was a week earlier, when Liverpool faced Crystal Palace at Anfield. My bad!


	27. Chapter 27

~~~92~~~

Jose had always liked Los Angeles, there was something so unbelievably refreshing about the whole atmosphere there. A perfect place to change your life, some people said.

Then there was the question where to find him. Steven couldn't be extremely happy to see Jose, to put it mildly. Most probably would try to avoid my contacts. Come to the training? At first Jose opted for this idea, but then he suspected Steven would just get pissed off or embarrassed or both. Probably would even try to punch him in the face, which would be very much deserved indeed. 

In his hotel room Jose googled and found some mentions of Steven's new life. He seemed to have settled really well here - bought a house, brought his family. In his interviews he said he was enjoying his life in LA, so far away from the hustle and bustle, an ideal place to finish his career. Jose frowned as he read that.

Steven could be good at so many things: tackling, being a leader on the pitch, finding captivating features in Carragher, scoring from a long distance, getting in charge of everything, sex (probably). But he was so poor at lying.

From one article Jose learnt Steven had got into the habit of running on the beach early in the morning. Very soon Jose found out where his house was and figured out his possible route. Alright, the next morning would be promising. At any rate, he could get himself a decent black eye.

~~~93~~~

So fucking sunny at such an ungodly hour, how could Steven survive here? Jose got out of the car and walked to the seashore. It was more pleasant here, at least there was some breeze. The waves were small and light blue, and the beach seemed endless in both directions. He started walking, and the sun was shining on his back.

About a quarter of an hour later he noticed a small figure running towards him. Jose stopped immediately. The closer the stranger was the more he looked like Steven. Tall, light brown hair, and most importantly, the same manner of running.

The sun was shining in the stranger's face, which made it hard for him to discern Jose soon enough. Of course, he had been noticed, but the runner kept pace, and only when he was fifty metres away, he started to slow down, as if suspecting something.

Jose made a few steps forwards. Now they were just thirty metres apart. Steven stopped, Jose followed suit. He had a terrible feeling that if he moved an inch, Steven would just change direction and vanish behind the horizon. It would be utterly dumb to chase a sportsman on the Californian beach.

'Hello,' Jose shouted at last. 

He didn't get any reply, which was rather unnerving. 

'Please don't run away because you know I won't catch up with you.'

Silence, very unsettling silence.

'I've come here all the way from London just to see you. I've been strolling here on this goddamn beach for three hours to get the chance to talk with you,' Jose decided to exaggerate the time spent in order to soften Steven's heart a bit.

Apparently, to no avail. Steven didn't answer anything, he just turned round slowly and resumed his run.

'To hell with you! I always knew you were a bastard, but this is taking it to a whole new fucking level!' shouted Jose, gave a long sigh and ran after the tall figure.

Really, what else could he do?

~~~94~~~

Surprisingly, Steven didn't run fast. Perhaps it was his usual pace for long distances or he secretly wanted Jose to be able to keep up. Jose hoped for the latter. Though he managed not to fall too far behind, he very soon felt exhausted. Something started aching in his chest and he was unable to speak.

A few times he felt ready to stop running and just fall on the sand, but something was telling him no one would care. Finally there came the moment when his legs simply gave out.

'Alright, I give up. It you want to torture me please hit me in the face or something. I can't go on like this.'

Steven didn't slow down, nor did he turn his head.

'Listen, I think I'm dying. I just got a sunstroke!'

No reaction from Steven, he went on running smoothly, effortlessly, his figure getting smaller by the second. Jose sat on the sand.

Beautiful. If some of his haters could watch this scene they'd be over the moon. 

Suddenly Jose noticed Steven stop. Did he finally take pity on him? No way, he was just entering some beach cafe. Jose got on his feet and trudged in that direction.

~~~95~~~

The cafe was empty but for one customer. 

'Coffee?' enquired Jose looking into his cup.  
'They don't serve tea here,' said Steven. These were the first words Jose heard from the man in the past few months. And they were much better than the previous ones comprising hating him forever and stuff. 

'Hey, don't you really serve tea?'  
'Nope,' answered a phlegmatic black guy behind the counter.  
'Well... Don't you know some people prefer having tea in the morning?'  
'Nope.'  
'Then I'm telling you that. Do you know who this person is?'  
'Nope.'  
'Jose, stop it.'  
'Pretty absurd, not having tea in fucking California! Look buddy, you just need hot water and some tea bags, make sure you have that next time, okay?'  
'Nope.'  
'Eloquent as fuck, is he,' Jose ordered a coffee as well.  
'Hope tea is your biggest problem here, across the pond.'

Steven shrugged his shoulders. This apathy was starting to get on Jose's nerves.

'Listen, I'm a stupid fucker, I'm an idiot. I said horrible unforgivable things about you and what you care for, which are all a lie. It's been haunting me for a while, so I have come here to say sorry.'  
'Right.'  
'And I've been worrying about you.'  
'I'm fine.'  
'Okay, I'll take your word for it. You're fine, brilliant. So what have you been doing here?'  
'Family affairs. Some sport. Thinking.'  
'About what, I wonder?'  
'Life.'  
'It's too early to think about this shit at your age, will only harm your weak Scouse brains.'  
'Look, now I know why you came here. We had sort of misunderstanding, you acted like a cunt and wish to make it all up to me. That's alright, I have nothing against you, Jose. You can go back now.'

~~~96~~~

Jose froze as he heard that. Steven didn't sound bitter or anything, he seemed to have truly forgiven Jose, forgiven or forgotten. That was a creepy feeling, to be sitting in front of this complete stranger, sipping at his coffee.

Jose even started to suspect Steven was on drugs or something. He had always worn his heart on his sleeve, but now it was nothing like him. What was lacking?

But Jose was a man of action, after all. His mind was trying to analyse this behaviour which was anything but normal. Of course, Jose was relieved to see Steven didn't hold a grudge against him, and in other circumstances Jose would try to engage him in some friendly chat and then, to hell with it, tell him everything. They were grown men, and there was some unresolved emotional and sexual tension between them, so he was ready to risk it all. 

But clearly it was impossible to think of any small talk so far, Steven looked a shell of the man he had once been. What was going on, for Christ's sake? Jose knew he'd be damned if he was going to leave before finding out.

He asked carefully about the family - splendid, relationship with wife - better than ever (Jose's face twitched a bit), daughters - enjoying their new friends, neighbours - nice people, weather - tolerable, the new team - cool. 

'Really cool?' Jose narrowed his eyes.  
'Sure. We've got a fantastic soccer team.'

'Well, it's great to see you're fine,' Jose said in an innocent tone. 'So, everything's alright between us?'  
'Course, why not?'  
'Then maybe I could come over before I go back to England.'

Judging by Steven's face, this idea didn't appeal to him at all. 

'I heard your house is something else.'  
'Jose, it's nothing special, just an ordinary house,' Steven probably felt how rude that must have sounded and sighed.

'Okay. Come to us tomorrow at six ish, 'and he explained how to get there. Jose pretended he didn't know that already, and took down the address. 

They said goodbye, no hugs, obviously. Jose left and when he was walking to his car, his face was dark and pensive.

~~~


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over one thousand hits, this is impressive! So, this fic turns out a bit longer than I thought, but I hope to finish it in a few weeks. There are four chapters left. Hope you'll enjoy it!

~~~97~~~

Jose had prepared everything perfectly, he knew it when he was driving up to that house with a huge verandah, surrounded by trees. He had a bottle of good wine (no fucking Spanish cheese this time!), flowers for Alex and some sweets for the kids. 

At first Steven felt ill at ease, but his chatty wife was very good at breaking the ice, and Jose did his best to keep the small talk going. He told them about his previous visits to LA, he was talking a blue streak trying to make Steven smile and he succeeded.

Yes, he seemed glad to see Jose, the house was big enough and comfortable, the food delicious, the kids were just a bit mischievous, but mostly funny. Moreover, Steven was a really great dad, Jose had never known that. The girls were constantly competing for his attention, and he seemed to take pleasure in playing the fool with them.

Alright, then came the most suspicious one, the wife. Steven once had mentioned they had difficulties and she was calling him names. Jose knew that in Merseyside derbies Everton fans used to chant 'The baby's not yours' when their second kid was born, so there could have been some story behind that. 

But now watching them together, Jose had to admit they looked okay-ish. At least, more harmonious than his own wife and he ever had. Alex seemed pretty shallow, but to Jose most women looked so. The way they talked with each other, laughed, finished one another's sentences - they were an example of a normal couple that had managed to overcome their hardships. It wasn't very pleasant to watch, but Jose felt like Sherlock, a heartless machine that had to get rid of all emotions for the sake of the case. His case was Steven, and this mystery had to be solved. 

He could pretend all he liked, Jose just knew he was hiding something. A loving family, a small garden, enough money, but still something was wrong. Why had he run away from Jose if he wasn't angry any longer? And why, for fuck's sake, was his nice house _just like any other house?_ Where the hell were his cups and medals, all the scrap players keep at home and proudly display?

~~~98~~~

This exactly. Jose really should have guessed from the start. Jose suppressed the impulse to ask these questions right away. He needed to be patient with Steven. He gave the room a quick once-over - no traces of anything football related. Finally the moment came when Alex went upstairs to put the kids to bed, and they were alone.

'Steven, do you keep in touch with folks from Liverpool?' Jose noticed Steven's relaxed posture stiffened. Good.  
'Just Carra, we don't talk too often though. The last time was a few months ago, I guess. I just called to congratulate him on his birthday and that's all. We didn't have the time to chat actually.'

_Don't show your shock. Don't fucking show your shock._

'He now commentates on matches, you know,' Jose added nonchalantly. 

Unfortunately that was true. Very often he appeared on Sky Sports with Gary Neville, and it looked like some secret competition, as if they were vying to embarrass their ex teams in every possible way. Neville normally spoke in platitudes or utter nonsense, while Carragher's words were a complete mystery to Jose who failed to discern human speech in that mumbo-jumbo. Still the viewership loved them which to Jose's mind was alone a serious indictment of the state of English society. Both demonstrated some incredible levels of bias which they called witty banter.

'Yeah. Good on him, though I don't watch, to be honest.'  
'You don't watch games at all?' exclaimed Jose pretending dumbfounded. He had been suspecting it for the past few minutes.  
'Well, in the first couple of weeks I did, but then I gave up. It just felt... wrong now.'  
'I can imagine,' muttered Jose. _To see these stadiums with dozens of thousands of people singing together. Must be quite a contrast to what you have now._

'I can't believe you don't miss it, following European football and all.'  
'Nah, I'm simply not interested. I just see me own team, and that's enough of soccer, I mean football, in me life.' Then he added, 'And it's such a relief not to get too worked up over everything like I used to.'

_Of course. Offuckingcourse. You seem dead chuffed yeah._

'And you don't watch Liverpool games?'  
'No,' he said in a level voice.  
'But you at least see the highlights, right ? Check the results?'

Steven shook his head. Jose still refused to believe it.

'Do you keep up with what's going on at the club?'  
'I'm not interested in that any more, Jose. And besides I really don't have time for this.'  
'Some years back... well, you used to speak differently.'  
'Exactly. _Some years back.'_

'You're right mate, everything changes,' Jose agreed, but he couldn't get rid of those vivid images in his mind when Steven looked so desperate repeating, _'It's me life. It's me whole life.'_  
Now he didn't seem to give a monkey's. Was he aware of Klopp's arrival, at least? 

'It's been a hell of a year in the League,' Jose said carefully. Steven showed no interest, but he proceeded. 'You know, United have been _really_ struggling this season, it was sheer pain to see,' he added in the most seductive tone.  
'Really?' Steven asked impassively.  
'Yep, they were a shambles under Van Gaal. By the way, they are about to appoint a new manager, some believe he could bail them out.'

Steven didn't ask who this new manager would be, which was a bad sign.

'Everton bought a bunch of good players, but you know this lot. Ultimately they, well, _Evertoned_ it,' Jose used the phrase he had often heard from Steven hoping it would revive him a bit. It didn't. 'Meanwhile, Arsenal...'  
'Jose, I just don't care about that now.'  
'Wait, you don't even know who won the Premier League, the Champions League?'  
'I heard who the winners were, lads from the team told me, but I never saw the games.'

'Pity you missed it and I'm really sorry you're not interested.' Jose decided that the Premiership was a topic which had to be left alone and started recalling some of the brightest moments of the Champions League. Steven obviously didn't feel like listening, but Jose went on and on about the games. Every time he pronounced a name Steven knew, Jose stole a glance at his face. No emotions at all. Jose redoubled his efforts pretending to be lost in memories. 'I could show you some goals if you don't mind, of course,' he said quickly taking his laptop. Steven seemed hesitant for a second, but then swallowed nerviously.

'Sure, why not.' Steven shrugged his shoulders. His boredom didn't last too long though.  
'Mm... pretty interesting that... Wow, what a save!.. Jose, I forgot how huge Bernabeu actually was... These Zenit lads are quite promising... Ha, look what a clueless defender... Bloody hell, what Messi is doing... the ref's fucking blind! There was no penalty!'

They were interrupted by a light cough behind their backs. It was Alex, and her face was full of the most profound reproof.

'Steven, come upstairs, will you? Girls say I read their books in the wrong manner and want you to do it,' she smiled.  
'Sure,' Steven sprang to his feet abruptly. 'It may take time, don't get bored. Darling, show Jose our collection of old vynils, he'll be impressed.'

Jose smirked. _To hell with your collection,_ he thought. He felt ready for the fight.

~~~


	29. Chapter 29

~~~99~~~

Naturally, Alex didn't say a word about the vynils.

'You were showing him football,' her voice sounded accusingly.  
'It's no porn, Alex. Had no idea it was forbidden.'  
'Right. I'll tell you something because you're his friend, not because I like you, and I don't.'  
'You're an honest lady, Alex.'  
'I know about Stevie and you,' for a second Jose felt caught red handed but then realised she meant something else. 'What you did for him in 2006. No one really knows, but I do, he told me. He said he had never met a more selfless noble person, _which I personally doubt.'_

Jose was glad it was already dark in the room, and she couldn't see his face well.

'After that... many things happened, but Stevie still held you high. So, that's why I'm telling you this. Jose, if you want to stay friends and come to our place, don't ever bring up football. It is banned here.'  
'How can you _forbid_ Steven to watch games?' Jose just didn't believe his ears. What was the stupid bitch thinking?  
'It's not me. It's an unspoken agreement that comes from him. You don't know what he went through after he left the team. Stevie was so depressed that I was afraid he would go mad. I mean it, literally _go mad.'_  
'I had no idea, Alex.'

'Course. Anyhow, I'm just trying to explain. I don't know why he he decided to go, I hoped there were some years left. Bad things always come unexpected, huh? Just one day he told me he was leaving the club. He looked so agitated, like he had learnt something. Something must've happened, but I'll never know what. Before that he sometimes disliked teammates or coach's methods, but I never thought he'd actually go away.'  
'There has to be some mystery,' mumbled Jose fully aware he would hate himself even more now.  
'He couldn't go to another European team, though there were offers, plenty of them. But you know him... Later he asked if he could stay as a training manager or something. Helping Brendan with different tasks, he believed he would cope with this. He asked a few times whether he could become second, third, fourth coach, and they kept him waiting for so long. Then they finally replied telling him his services were not needed, as he had no such experience.'  
'Cocksuckers,' said Jose. After all Steven had done for their pathetic club!  
'So he consulted his agent and decided it would be best to come here. No one would bother us, very few people know him here, the contract is decent, great opportunities for the children. And he's still doing what he loves most.'  
'And you must be so happy here, right, Alex?'

She sighed.

'It's complicated. Kids like it here, naturally. No media pressure, and the sea is right next to the house. The shopping is amazing!' her face immediately brightened up. 'You know, football has always been bringing nothing but problems in our life. I hoped he would feel much happier now.'

 _You know your husband so fucking well,_ thought Jose.

'But honestly, at times I miss Liverpool. You know, all my friends, my family are there, and in California everything's so _strange._ I cannot get used to lots of things. Even _the shops_ are different! But I try not to complain because I know for Stevie it's much harder. He's left everything behind, and maybe he feels sort of guilty that he dragged us here, so he's trying his best to make our life wonderful... Albeit sometimes I start to think he can't be pleased with this soccer team.'  
'How do you know?' smirked Jose.  
'Well, he never discusses it at home. Odd, innit? Looks like he doesn't actually care about them. But in a way it's a good thing, right? Earlier he used to be too involved with the club and now it's a more healthy approach, I think. Before he would tell me everything about each training, and after the games it was like a fountain,' she laughed. 

Jose had never known Steven was so close with his wife. Most probably, Jose just preferred to think of Steven as a single man for whom family meant little, just like for him.

'So, long story short, Steven and you, you are both sort of pretending.'  
'What nonsense, of course we're not!' she paused. 'Well, in a way, maybe we are. To be fair, both he and I feel it was a mistake, moving here. But I'm pretty sure, it'll get better.'  
'Okay, now listen. There's nothing that can't be fixed. It's just ridiculous for him to be leading this vegetal life, to become nobody in goddamn California.'  
'But it was his choice, Jose.'  
'Come on, it was a shitty choice based on emotions. I must at least try to persuade him otherwise. Does he still have the same agent?'  
'Yes, Stru, a nice guy.'  
'Then it's about fucking time this nice guy actually did something for the money he gets.'  
'But Jose, are you deaf? He doesn't want to play in Europe, because in this case he might have to play against...'  
'He could become a coach. It's absolutely different experience, believe me, I know what I'm talking about.'  
'You think...'  
'Yeah, sometimes I do. But I will need your help and cooperation. Stop biting back your dislike for your current habitat and for fuck's sake, let the man watch some normal European football. Especially the Premier League.'

She was silent for a few seconds.

'Why is it that I want to believe you? Honestly, I even miss watching games. We would gather some friends, Carra, Nicola, lads from the team, and it was always so funny. And sometimes it was just two of us, snuggling on the coach. I always enjoyed those moments.'

_Great, another brilliant revelation, don't think about it._

'You see I'm right. And I'm going to meet with him tomorrow after the training and take him to some local pub.'  
'There are no normal pubs here.'  
'Whatever. Alex, I promise I won't force anything on him. Just let him see other prospects,' his voice sounded confident, but he knew he was in fact waiting for her decision.  
'Okay,' she said, at last, to Jose's great relief.  
'Where is he, by the way? We've been talking for like an hour.'  
'Reading. You know, each of the kids has their favourite books, so he reads two or three to everyone.'  
'Pfft. Now I see he's trying his best to be a really good husband,' Jose rolled his eyes. He personally never liked reading to his own children.  
'No, he has always been like that, since our first baby was born,' smiled Alex. 'In fact he spends much more time with them than I do, always walking with the pram in any weather, taking them to nursery and school, helping with homework. I have to admit, he's a terribly boring husband'.

~~~100~~~

Driving home Jose couldn't but keep asking himself what the hell was going on.

Suddenly it turned out he didn't know Steven _at all._ He was no loner seeking a male lover who could take him under his wing, he had never been. He was a caring husband, a good father and a person of one passion. Jose was starting to see everything in a different light.

He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but what if he had been wrong right from the start?  
Steven was so broken-hearted when Alonso left simply because it weakened the team, and he had felt the same way when they lost other key players. He had never noticed the way Alonso was looking at him because he had no such feelings himself and failed to recognise them in another person. Which, sadly, was also the case with Jose. He might like Jose, but merely as a friend, like many other people. He would meet with him because he found Jose entertaining and smart, and besides he was immensely grateful to him for that story in 2006. Steven spent the night with him because he got stoned, not because he had been dreaming about it all along. Naturally, in the morning he felt ashamed and terrified. For him that had been a betrayal of his wife and his principles, and betrayal seemed to be the worst crime in his personal list of sins whereas loyalty was probably the highest virtue. That one night in Madrid had really been a mistake which tortured him because for some idiotic reason he loved his wife. And she wasn't even a horrible woman, albeit Jose had got used to thinking otherwise. 

Jose had been imagining things that could never, ever happen in this world, Steven wasn't attracted to men, and there was no sexual tension between them. To be more exact, it was one-sided. Jose had spent entire _years_ chasing ghosts, labouring under a false assumption, dreaming of getting Steven to join his team and making him his lover. Now it was obvious neither could have happened.

Jose was torn between the desire to cry and to laugh, really what bitter irony. He remembered what they had once said in that pub, seemed it had been ages ago. 

_'I personally feel sorry for those who live in a world of illusions.'  
'Don't we all in some way?''_

Yeah, Steven could be wise sometimes without even realising it. Jose always considered Steven oblivious on the verge of stupidity, but what about himself? Blinder than a bat, if he couldn't see that. Steven was an integral person, and neither Alonso's nor Jose's actions could change his mindset filled with weirdest rubbish.

The worst thing was he still loved Steven (now Jose could frankly admit it to himself), perhaps even more than before. Now that he realised what sort of person Steven was, his feelings became more acute. He wanted him so much he had to grit his teeth, knowing this body would never belong to him. His body belonged to this shallow woman, his heart belonged to Anfield, and Jose could never replace either. 

And now Jose was about to do something moronic again. Try to convince this gorgeous beautiful man, who would never be his, to return to Europe. Fuck logic.

~~~


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In these troubled times, please be safe. Like many others now, I'm feeling uncertain about everything: my family, my job, vacations, football. Hope this fic entertains you a bit.

~~~101~~~

The training was even worse than Jose had expected, the whole team looked totally clueless. Jose suddenly remembered they had once misprinted Steven's name on the shirt, literally spelt it incorrectly: Gerrrard. One might wonder what they would do if they bought Azpilicueta or, god forbid, Papagiannopoulos. Everyone was commiting errors every few seconds, even Carra would be a star here. Steven wasn't any better than the others, which hurt to see. Earlier, all his movements on the pitch had been so passionate, but now he looked listless, insipid, clumsy.

_'It's me whole life.'_

Jose decided not to comment on their performance to spare Steven's pride, but the latter saw it in his eyes and glared back.

_'Normally_ we play better.'  
'Of course,' agreed Jose. 'Fancy going to some pub?'  
'There are no pubs here.'

No pubs, no tea, no football, what a wonderful place.

'We could go to that new posh restaurant...' suggested Steven but then shook his head, 'No, damn it. Let's just get some beer and walk to the beach.'  
'That's the spirit,' nodded Jose. The lad wasn't hopeless after all.

The beach was lonely and dark, the waves were rustling smoothly. They took off their trainers and sat on the sand. Some pebbles were shining in the moonlight.

How fucking romantic, thought Jose. What would it feel like to have sex with Steven here? But he was here for a different reason.

'Why don't you come back to Europe?' Jose asked as they opened their first bottles. He'd planned to approach the topic carefully, gradually, matching his words with the amount of alcohol in Steven's body. But this body was too distracting, and Jose decided to start right away.

'Are you barking mad? What could I do there?'   
'Same as here. Play.'  
'You know I can't. I would never score against _them.'_  
'Are you not tired of saying that? Because I am. But alright, I respect that, you're a man of principles. That's why I'm not inviting you to join my new team.'

Steven looked intrigued, and that was all Jose needed.

'Didn't know you left Chelsea.'  
'Lord, it's like talking with an astronaut who was absent for five years. What rock have you been living under? Now I've got something different. A club with a long proud history! At least that's what they repeat incessantly, reminds me of one port team.'  
'Real again?' 

Jose shook his head.

'Juve? Valencia? Eintracht? Crvena Zvezda?' _Rubin Kazan?'_ Steven asked teasingly.  
'No, I haven't fallen that low. It's a great club you for some inexplicable reason dislike.'  
'You can't be the new manager of the scum!'

Jose grinned.

'Always suspected you were a pervert. Their city is a dump! Sorry, I can't wish you good luck there. I hope you go directly to the Championship where the Mancs belong.'  
'Not interested in football at all, are we?'

Steven didn't reply. His face was silhouetted against the sky, and Jose felt such stupid and uncontrollable tenderness that it hurt to breathe. They opened new bottles.

'You could become a coach, too. An assistant coach, you know.'  
'Help you with _United,_ me? Are you insane?'  
'Well, I'm not _that_ insane. You could take some average team not from the Premier League so as not to face the mighty Reds.'  
'I don't speak Italian or Spanish, how could I communicate with me own players, via some interpreter?'

Now he was talking as if they whole thing was real, and Jose definitely counted it as a success.

'You could find a place where people speak English.'  
'I already have,' Steven commented sourly. He was openly critical of his current club now, which was a good sign.  
'It's a shite place and a shite team,' Jose said positively, and Steven raised no objection. 'There's a country in Europe where people will understand you, and it's much closer to you home city.'  
'You mean... Scotland?' asked Steven tentatively. 'How odd, I've never given it a thought for some reason.'   
'This couch potato you call your agent should've thought of that in the first place.'   
'But Jose, what Scottish club could be interested in me as their coach? I haven't been taught, I've no such experience. That's what I've been reliably informed at least,' he probably remembered Brendan's words.   
'You could take some coaching course. And any dullard who says you lack experience after a career you have had can just shove their words up their arse. Besides, I know a couple of minor Scottish clubs where they'd be glad to see you. I did some research.'

In fact Jose was shamelessly bluffing, he hadn't contacted anyone from Scotland. But he knew he would manage to find something if he was sure Steven would say yes.

They opened new bottles. Steven was panting heavily, obviously taken aback by the idea. He didn't know Jose was holding something even better up his sleeve, feeling like motherfucking Santa.

'No way, Jose. This isn't going to happen, I'm settled here.'  
'Just think twice about it. Please.'  
'Jose, why are you doing this?'

~~~102~~~

Which explanation to choose?

'Because I feel sorry.'  
'Because I enjoy manipulating people, especially you.'  
'Because you will manage perfectly.'  
'Because I need to know you are at least in the same hemisphere as I am.'  
'Because I love you, stupid idiot.'  
'Because I'm an idiot myself.'

'Because even syphilitic sheepshagging bastards like me could do something good once in a while for those we care for.'  
'I never called you so!'  
'Another one did, forget it.'  
'I also care for you a lot,' Steven turned his face towards Jose. 'If there's something I can do for you, consider it done.'

_Kiss me. Touch me. Tell me you missed me. Let me shag you. Right here, right now._

'Sign for United,' said Jose.  
'Hey, when I said "something" it obviously didn't comprise the most disgusting options!'

_Of course._ They laughed and opened their fourth bottles.

'By the way... How...' Steven cleared his throat and looked away. 'How're Liverpool doing?' and by his voice Jose realised he had been thinking about that the whole damned evening. God, the man could easily have googled all he needed to know ages ago, but clearly he had decided to abstain from reading any football related news. Why was he asking now, had Jose's arrival triggered something?

Jose tried to weigh his own words and had to start with the worst bit.

'Henderson is still the captain,' Jose said in a lugubrious tone.  
'Hendo is the right guy,' sighed Steven with a light smile. 'Not a born and bred Liverpudlian, but he has the spirit. Hope once he hoists some trophy over his head.'

Jose doubted that. Jordan Henderson was a dull, boring, uncharismatic specimen, reminded him of Carragher. There were no reasons to give him the armband, other than utter despair. Besides, he had a weird gait and looked like a dumbo during all his interviews. 

'In case you don't know, Brendan left in October, and they found a replacement. This time somehow didn't even fuck it up. That's Klopp, he...' Jose was ready to explain.  
'Jurgen Klopp, Borussia Dortmund?'

Jose nodded. 

'Hell, Jose, I always rated him. Honestly, I secretly wanted Klopp to become Liverpool manager one day. Maybe he's exactly what we need,' Jose raised a brow at this switch from "they" to "we".  
'Well, now everyone in Liverpool adores him. A very charming guy... unlike me.'

Steven didn't seem to notice Jose's words.

'You know, it's been aeons since I last went to England, and next time I'll pay him a visit. Hope he won't mind.'  
'He won't. You can kick all the doors open, and no one will flicker an eyelid. You just don't know how popular you still are, Steven.'  
'Here no one gives a shite who I am, I got used to that. It's what I wanted and all. But sometimes, _sometimes..._ You don't know how I sometimes miss those days, I even see it in me dreams. The city, the fans, all that stuff,' his voice sounded muted and intense.  
'I should think so. You are still their main legend. When you turn up, they'll be swooning and fainting into the Mersey as you walk. This will make the water even muddier if that's possible.'  
'Oh shut up. I just want to drop in at Melwood, see the staff there, watch some training, chat with the lads and talk with Klopp, of course if he has time.'  
'Oh, he'll find time, I'm sure. Because...' Jose took a theatrical pause. 'You know, it so happened, the other day I was talking with him, and accidentally mentioned your name,' in the morning Jose had called this ever-smiling idiot just in order to speak about Steven. The German seemed caught by surprise when Jose called him and at first didn't even understand what it was all about. He appeared amused by the fact that Jose was asking him such a strange favour but easily agreed. 'For sure, why not? Let him come, we'll chat and see what we can do... There must be some cool job for Stevie, for sure.'

Steven looked stunned as if he couldn't get what he was saying.

'...And he said you are the person the club might really need. Practically _implored_ me to bring you to the city. I hear they want someone to coach the youth team, you know,' improvised Jose.

For a second it seemed Steven would jump and run in circles about the beach like a puppy that had just found its master. But he managed to stay put, yet his eyes were shining like stars. That was the moment LA Galaxy definitely lost their midfielder.

'Jose, if it happens, if it only happens... I'll be living in Liverpool, again. Just imagine that! Walking about the same streets. God! I'll be coming to Anfield, to every game, and I'll be working at Melwood, Jose!' and he suddenly hugged Jose with such vigour he felt his ribcage was in danger. 'I know I seem a madman to you, you can laugh all you like. I'll try to behave in a civil manner when I meet Klopp, I'll pretend a normal bloke.'  
'No use trying. He knows you are bonkers, but he's not in his right mind himself either. Otherwise he would have never agreed to come to Liverpool. However he calls himself a normal one,' puffed Jose.

Steven was still embracing Jose, but it was clear he hadn't caught a single word. His thoughts were obviously thousands of miles away, contemplating affectionately a port city with a dirty river and some ugly buildings along its banks. Another proof that beauty was a subjective thing existing solely in the eyes of the beholder. Jose couldn't imagine himself being so brainlessly attached to any place, even Venice, Florence, Paris or Barcelona, let alone Merseyside. Steven was a complete nutter, there was no denying that. 

'Nothing is settled yet, this lazybones Stru will finally have some work to do, bet this won't make him happy at all. And of course you'll need to talk with Klopp in person to discuss things.'  
'Sure, I'm not going to get too excited too early,' Steven's voice was definitely contradicting his words.  
'Now let's head for your house,' Jose stood up and reached for Steven's hand, it was warm and a tad shaky. 'Your missus might be worrying.'  
'But what if Alex doesn't want to come back? She seems to enjoy living here,' said Steven suddenly, in a puzzled tone.  
'Oh, you'll manage to talk her into it, I'm sure,' smirked Jose. Steven gave him a suspicious look.

'Jose, you cunning fox! You have already spoken to her, come clean.'  
'Guilty as charged. And something's telling me she won't be against moving from this heavenly place.'  
'You're a dangerous person, Jose. It's a good job I can always read your mind.'  
'Yeah Steven, your powers of observation never ceased to astonish me.'

~~~


	31. Chapter 31

~~~103~~~

It had been raining without cease since Steven returned to the city, but Jose was sure that was precisely what Steven needed. Terrible weather, bad food, murky water, crazy folks - some people had weird concepts of happiness. 

They arranged to meet in the evening a couple of days after his arrival. The venue was the same. When they were finally in a private booth, Steven gave a sigh of relief disposing of the sunglasses. They hugged.

'It was not easy peasy to escape from them, people are following me everywhere.'  
'Unbelievable, who could predict that,' said Jose. 'How was your visit?' he didn't need to ask though. Those radiant eyes and a wide smile were a dead giveaway.  
'They offered me this job. Honestly, can you imagine that?'

Jose could but decided to play along.

'Wow, you're kidding me. Youth team?'  
'Under-18 boys. I've talked with three or four of them, you should've seen their faces when they were told I'm going to be their coach! And at Melwood everything's the same, Carol and Caroline from the canteen still remember me, all the staff do!'

It sounded as if he'd served 20 years in prison.

'This is silly, I know. The thing is, when you haven't seen any of them for such time, and then suddenly everyone is here, you feel... a bit overwhelmed.' 

"A bit overwhelmed" apparently didn't even begin to cover it. But Steven made a huge effort to conceal the joy running through his veins and queried, 'How's it going with...' he obviously wanted to say "scum", but forced himself '...your team?'

_What a triumph of the will, really!_

'Great. Expect to kick your butts next season.'  
'No way,' Steven grinned and shook his head. 'But if you manage to, I swear I'll congratulate you properly. You're the only good thing that could happen to the tossers.'  
'You were right about the city though,' Jose admitted. 'I would rate it even lower than Liverpool... but that's impossible, of course.'   
'I read somewhere, you're still living in a hotel?'  
'Yep. So, how did you find Klopp?'

Steven's face lit up immediately.

'Oh Jose, he's a miracle. Words sort of fail me. He's brilliant, amazing, fantastic, one of a kind! He already managed to create some special atmosphere, he's like everybody's dad. It feels like a family. I've never witnessed anything like that before. He told me he had been very much disappointed when Brendan told me to piss off.'

Of course. _But did it ever occur to you he didn't bother to find out how you were doing before I literally made him invite you? No, of course it didn't._

'And he said some words about loyalty I thought I'd never hear from a coach. Jose, he really _knows_ how I feel, what it means to me. After talking with him, when I left the room, I was giddy for hours, I felt I was ready to put on my red kit and go on the pitch to play for his team... Having such a great coach by me side is something I always dreamt of. He's so passionate, so wise and yet so down to earth. One can't help but admire him!'  
'One surely can... So, you seem genuinely happy, man.'  
'Well, probably because I am.'

The plan had been to bring Steven back to England and then maybe... Maybe one day lay his cards on the table. Against all odds, regardless of anything, Jose was still raring to give it a crack. But not today, obviously. The man had just arrived, he was not ready for this sort of stuff yet. _Just say something nice, make idiotic small talk, come on._

'How's Alex? I'll wager she's enjoying it.'  
'Course she is. Girls can now spend weekends with their grandparents. And you know... We didn't tell many people, you'll be actually one of the first to know. There's another baby on the way. When the doc said it's probably a boy I was really made up, and... Jose?'  
'What?'  
'Are you feeling okay? You have such a strange look, mate.'

There will be no end to it, Jose thought. He felt he was about to say something crazy like, 'Hope this time the baby's yours.' He gritted his teeth.

'Wow. I'm impressed. Congratulations, man...' he glanced at his watch. 'Oh shit! I've completely forgotten... I mean, you know, I've got to rush.'

They hugged again, and Jose lingered a bit just in order to remember it better, how it felt. He knew he wouldn't see Steven soon.

~~~104~~~ 

And that's how it was. For some reason every time Steven tried to contact him, Jose was horribly busy.

That season United under him won the FA Cup and the Europa League. Liverpool were fourth, but it didn't seem to worry Steven when they finally met next time. 

'Trophies are important, but it's not just about them, it's really about the right team, the right people around you, the right spirit,' and then without any connection with the previous words he added, 'by the way, I'm leaving the club.'   
'What? They sacked you?' 

Jose couldn't believe his ears. What the hell was this German fucker thinking?

'Not exactly. It's still top-secret, no one knows but Jurgen, me and the lads at Rangers.'  
'Ridiculous. You cannot be leaving for motherfucking Rangers, for god's sake.'  
'You were telling me to go to Scotland yourself, weren't you? I'm actually very excited about this and I'm grateful to the folks in Glasgow who believed in me. For them this appointment is a gamble, you know. I'm a Schrodinger manager,' he gave a nervous laugh. 'Nobody really knows if I'm capable of anything. Jurgen advised me to gain some experience, to learn how it feels at the wheel. Who knows, perhaps...' he swallowed looking disinterested, 'Perhaps one day...'

He trailed off, he didn't need to continue. 

'In five or ten years' time you could become Liverpool manager. Maybe you'll even win the Premier League finally.'  
'Jose, people who remember our golden days when we were the best in England are getting older and soon will simply die out.'  
'Very likely, given the amount of alcohol they consume.'

Steven looked at Jose reproachfully but smirked. 

'I really hope fans won't have to wait so long for titles. I have a feeling Jurgen could bring us some silverware.'  
'Not this crap again. Fat chance of that, Steven. His team lacks depth and at least half of them are absolute dross. He might seem a likable guy, but get real - no one could go far with these. What is he going to win with this squad, the Champions League maybe?'   
'And why not?' Steven's eyes glowed.  
'Oh come on, you didn't even make the top three in your own country. You can't seriously rely on the likes of wooden Henderson, Milner who's a reject from City and what's his name, Origi? You yourself know they are all utter rubbish.'  
'You used to say the same about Baros, Kewell and Finnan.'  
'Cause they were shit.'  
'Really? Then how come we won in 2005?'  
'Well, there was a very slight difference,' catching Steven's uncomprehending look Jose sighed and elaborated on that. 'You had another captain back then.'  
'Hendo is a true leader, he's often incredible on the pitch!'  
'Yeah, I know he loves running. Only took him seven years to learn how to pass the ball, what a star. Sadly, so far, can only pass backwards, but let's be optimistic, give him another seven years and he might learn.'

And before Steven rushed to defend his successor Jose changed the topic.

'Aren't you going to miss Melwood and the boys?'  
'Course. But I have to go, how else will I get the right experience? One has to learn something every day, otherwise you stagnate.'  
'Pearls of wisdom. So, what are you learning right now?'  
'How to stop meself from swearing when they make mistakes. How to make friends with these boys, but not have favourites. How to be a father of four... And you?'

_How to come to terms that I eventually lost you.'_

'How to hate the Scousers properly.'  
'Mancs have always, you know, impressed me with their consistency. Whenever we came to play there, they were always chanting 'You Scouse bastards, we're gonna kill you,' and other friendly stuff, and five minutes later 'Rooney! ROONEY! Rooney!'

Jose couldn't help smiling.

~~~

Jose heard the doorbell and opened the door for the boy.  
'Hey, it's a nasty day today, innit? My name is Joseph.'  
'Listen Joseph. I'm going to pay you well, but don't talk. I want it in silence.'  
'Yes, sir,' whispered the lad and these were the only words they said that evening.   
Jose didn't need his name, didnt need his voice, didn't even need his face.

~~~


End file.
